Shadows of Red
by Hime-kou
Summary: A hitokiri lives in Kyoto. One to equal Battousai. One who will come to understand him, one who's past is as dark and painful as his. The shadow of Battousai, she will come to know him and the man he is, just as he will come to know her.
1. Chapter 1 A Questionable Light

**SHADOWS OF RED**_  
by Hime-kou_

**Author's notes: **_It was not good. I was recently revisiting Shadows of Red, and I had to endure the first couple of chapters. Ouch. It was painful. These first couple of chapters were like the beginning of my writing and were rather...moldy? Hole-y. Papercut-y. So I had to revise it. Otherwise, it probably would have driven me insane. "__AHHHH! BAD CHAPTER!" So here's chapter one revised and hopefully better to the general enjoyment and pain relief of readers. _

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Chapter One- A Questionable Light (Rev)

_The Meiji Era dawned on the blood of many. Built upon the bodies of murdered citizens, civilians and officers, some corrupt and some not._ _Legendary among the hitokiri's, the assassins, of the opposing factions, was one man known as Hitokiri Battousai. The ultimate killing machine. A man with hair as scarlet as the blood he bore upon his hands. Yet Hitokiri Battousai had one equal. In fact, another hitokiri. Once not many knew about. One who killed as ferociously and enormously as Hitokiri Battousai, and one as skilled too. One who lived and fought in the shadows of the war._

The streets of Kyoto were busy. People moved to and fro, gazing at shop windows, chattering about new items…even in these times of unrest and danger, the public still came to shop and talk. The only difference was the number of swords worn openly, the number of young women accompanied by stern-looking men, and the rarity of single shoppers. Kyoto in these ages was a dangerous place. Blood was spilled almost every night. Consequently, the streets fell into disarray.

Smudges of dirt and ash blackened the walls of stores, and the alleyways between buildings were places of filth, darkness, and rats. An air of tension and fear was settled over the entire city and few stopped long to chat. Eyes tended to dart sideways and flash at suspicious-looking people, gazing distrustfully at anyone and everyone.

Grime hung over store signs and store windows carried extra fortifications of wood and sometimes steel. Doors were padlocked and securely shut when night fell. No one risked Kyoto in the later hours. A chilly wind blew threw the streets, rattling signs, tossing sleeves, rippling kimonos. Shops closed their windows tightly and barricaded them with firmly secured wood. Upstairs, along the private homes of shopkeepers, the wind scraped desolately against the wide frozen glance of the wooden walls. A few trees, sticking out of back courtyards in the more prosperous shops, were bare and their dark grey branches creaked against a lighter grey sky. A few leaves tumbled along the street, catching shoppers on their ankles.

She stood in the corners of the street, leaning casually against the wall of a shop called the Bairin. It sold udon to the hungry passengers upon the street. Even now, a few men and women ate from steaming bowls, though the silence between them spoke of unease. Steaming hot noodles were lifted from a large communal pot by the shopkeeper and dished into dishes of questionable sanitary levels. Money was exchanged with furtive glances between shopkeeper and customer—the bright metal coins disappeared almost instantly after being handed over.

The people who ate at the stall were garbed in either nice and clean kimonos or clean, well-made hakamas and gis. Although she wore a well-worn black gi and grey hakama, no one seemed to see her. She blended into the background and merely watched. She had been told that someone would be here, in the alleys between two certain shops. She didn't question the information—she didn't want to know how it was gotten. Spies were only too easily bought in these days.

She casually stepped closer to the alley besides her. Her tatami sandals trailed through a spot of red, staining the woven soles. Without a sound, she slipped into the darkness, vanishing from the streetfront. The people continued walking by, none noticing her presence or her absence.

Inside, it was pitch dark. Rats scrabbled by the walls. Here, the wind didn't blow. All was still and silent but for the movements of the animals.

Sachiko stared ahead into the darkened alleyway. She waited for her eyes to adjust. The dark did not bother her. Her senses, already almost inhumanely sharp, grew sharper still with tension. The metallic tang of blood drifted towards her, emanating from some spot deeper within the alley. Without a sound, she sped into the darkness, hakama and gi fading into the blackness, long black hair swinging. Harbinger of death.

She stopped when she came upon the man standing in the dark over a freshly killed body. She could hear his breath, smell the blood on his steel katana, see his eyes gleaming in the darkness, crazed with bloodlust. Although she made no sound, he looked up as she approached. Immediately, his katana dropped to a defensive position and he crouched. He reacted quickly, one of the better hitokiris hired by the Bakufu, apparantly. No matter.

In the alleyway branching off the busy streets of Kyoto, where none could see or hear of it, they readied themselves. Darkness cloaked the two to advantage—but Sachiko invariably sensed his ki. Obviously, this man hadn't been trained in hiding from anything other than sight. Sachiko watched the hitokiri as he froze in position.

Ominously, she drew her katana. The steel scraped against the hard sheath and the rasping noise filled the alley. Neither moved. Neither, until a rat scurried towards the corpse on the ground, breaking the silence. The man lunged.

Smoothly, he slid towards Sachiko, katana extended, still stained red. Sachiko grinned humorlessly.

In a heartbeat, she parried, steel clashing, and swiftly drove her sword under his guard—towards his vulnerable body. He blocked; or rather, he attempted to. As his sword flashed to parry her anticipated blow, Sachiko whipped her sword around and sliced ferociously into his sword arm, severing tendons and nerves.

Blood gushed out. His hand hung limp and useless. She had purposely slashed at his arm, calculating to debilitate him. Sure enough, the man gave a yelp of pain…and fear. For a hitokiri without the use of their sword arm was as good as dead. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, emotions surging through their dark light.

Satisfied, she drew her katana towards his throat, preparing to slash easily and allow his life to drain out with his blood. This was only too easy. This was why her employer hadn't even asked her to kill in the night. This man was no one of consequence.

He didn't give up. She felt surprise, though detachedly, at his will to live. Panting, he threw his body towards the wall, switching sword hands. All the more challenging and engaging for Sachiko then. They faced off again, the man holding his katana with the easy grip of one used to both hands.

This could go on forever or it could end in a moment, Sachiko knew. She decided that the darkness was pressing down on her and she wanted to get out. She wanted to be back at her quarters, out of the darkness. Tensing muscles, she sprang, using the wall behind her for momentum.

She ran towards the man, her speed making rags, dirt, pieces of filth, and ashes swirl into the air. When she was exactly outside of the man's swordsman's zone, she hurled herself into a spin, sword extended.

The movement carried her into his zone and out, in the space of seconds, and she smoothly turned off at the alley wall.

Silence.

Then, the figure behind her gave a horrible gurgle and slid, in half, to the ground. Blood spurted everywhere, drenching the ground, the corpse, and Sachiko. Rivers of red. The smell…permeating every pore on Sachiko's body. Soaking into the very air. Her sword tip gleamed crimson. Her hakama dripped scarlet liquid. Blood.

"_Run, Sachiko-chan! Run away!" Agonized scream, then blood. Blood everywhere, drenching, burning, staining, drowning, smothering, liquid. _

_Sachiko, holding Michiko's head, the eyes wide open in fear and death. Long black tresses trailing into coagulating blood. Blood. Red. Scarlet on her hands.

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_That was chapter one! It sure was dark and angsty. Hmmm, I don't know if that's a good place to end but I'm sure everyone will understand. Doesn't Sachiko sound scary? You'll find out more about her later and these cheesy blood-flashblacks of hers. :Hime-kou grimaces at lame flashblack: I'm sorrryy! Wah, don't sue me for mutilating Ruroken! And please keep reading if you are! And please submit anything for me to read and feel appreciated! Thank you! _

_**Japanese Vocabulary of the Chapter (i.e. Japanese to Make this Sound Authentic)**_

_1. **Sachiko**...boy is this a misnomer. It means Child of Joy or Child from Joy. Sachiko sure sounds...erm...joyous, doesn't she? I mean, all that blood  
__stuff? Who wouldn't be happy. Ha. Ha. Sorry Sachiko, you'resubject toHime-kou's over active imagination._

_2. **Hitokiri**..beautiful world, isn't it? This means manslayer, for all you Ruroken innocents out there. _

_3. **Udon**...Noodles. Japanese noodles, to be exact. They're usually made of wheat, and are thick and long. As per usual. Very very good._

_4. **Bairin**...that's Japanese for plum blossom. I know, that's a horrible pun-ish thing on Tomoe. But still. _

_5. **Kimono**...traditional dress for women in Japan. Young women wore long sleeved, bright kimonos while married and older women had shorter  
sleeves and duller colors. _

_6. **Hakama**...traditional Japanese pants worn by men, mostly. Sachiko's special, she's a hitokiri. (as if that explains everything)_

_7.** Gi**...a jacket-like article of clothing made of cotton. _

_8. **Tatami**...sandals worn by both men and women. Made of woven straw._

_9. **Katana**...a sword approximately30 inches long._

_10.** Ki**...a person's life-force. Swordsmen like Kenshin can sense ki or cloak their own. _

_Thanks and review! _


	2. Chapter 2 As Shadow and Day

**SHADOWS OF RED**_  
by Hime-kou_

**Author's Notes: **_Continuing with the revisions. The more I read the first couple of chapters, the more I dislike it. Grrr...So I'm waiting until I revise all the chapters that I oh-so-intensely-dislike to upload a new chapter. Sorry. Suffice to say I think this revision will ease many troubled minds (mine included). Veerrrry troubled minds (mine). And the more I revise it, the longer the chapters get...ohmy...poor readers will go blind reading this. I'M SORRYYYY!_

_Thanks for reading, as ever, and please drop a comment :holds out comment box and dances:_

**Disclaimer:**_ I keep forgetting this! Ah, not mine. Will not ever be mine. Sadness. All I can do is mess upwhat is mine (Sachiko, my computer, etc.)_**

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Chapter Two-As Shadow and Day (Rev.)

The alley was still and silent. Outside, separated from the darkness of her world, people continued to talk and laugh, if tremulously, shop and eat. Here, it was different. Here, light rarely penetrated. Here, memories haunted.

Trembling, Sachiko rose from her knees where she had been crouched. The man lay where he had fallen, in a pool of dark crimson. The liquid gleamed dully in the darkness. Besides him was his own victim, throat sliced. A young woman. Her throat was crusted with black. Sachiko turned and ran, slipping on cursed blood.

These things that attacked her, these things that she remembered. She didn't know when they would strike, she didn't know when they would grab her and pull her into a swirling vortex of black and red. However, it was the emotions that truly scared her. Always, that horrible, drowning, sense of sorrow. Sorrow so deep it could overwhelm even a trained hitokiri. Emotions and images that she could almost remember? She was scared, and she knew it, of what her own mind held from her. So she ran away.

It was raining, she found. Lightly, she jumped up onto the roof of a lower shop, along the back streets were few frequented. The wind still twisted along the roads, forced into a path by the buildings on the street. The wind caught her hair and tugged it back vengefully, driving streams of cold rain into her face and onto her body. It chilled her, this autumn rain, yet it helped to wash away the blood on her clothing. But the blood on her hands remained. It always remained.

Sachiko didn't think as she ran. She let the cool water beat down upon her, washing away everything until nothing remained. Her feet obeyed her unconscious mind and they took her towards her quarters—not her home. Absentmindedly, she jumped down from a house and stopped at a small building off a side street. No signs adorned it. The street was empty.

Stretching to both sides, lined with occasional houses, rain hissed onto the stones and down the sides of the buildings. All the way, towards the horizon, grey masked the neighborhood. The only sound was the rain. Quietly, Sachiko slipped into the house. She slid the shoji open, calming at the sight of the familiar quarters provided by her employer. A sense of peace filled her as she glanced about familiar territory. The house was plain and sparsely furnished but she liked it that way. A foyer opened towards the door and the main room was connected to the small room. Shaking out her hair, heedless of the drops that fell onto slightly worn floors, she headed for the washroom.

Once there, she scrubbed as hard as she could at the blood all over her hands. The water in the washing tub turned red, murky. In haste, Sachiko stripped and poured water over herself, cleansing…trying to cleanse. But the blood remained. It always remained. She gave up.

No one was visible as she made her way towards her small room, but she knew that the serving girl, Mayumi-chan, was somewhere in the house. Uneasy silence soaked through the house. Sachiko didn't feel truly comfortable in it. After all, it was only her second month living in the house. Katsura often moved his assassins around.

She slid the shoji aside to her room. Nothing marked it as hers. In all her years as a hitokiri, nowhere she lived ever actually grew in her heart. She felt nothing for the house, except a gratefulness to be out of the rain. There was a clean black gi and grey hakama by the shoji door. Mayumi-chan, the serving girl, must have left it there. Sachiko was grateful for the warm and dry clothing. She quickly donned them and headed into the main room once more.

She settled herself onto the tatami mats and closed her eyes. The rain hissed and drummed against the roof, quietly filling the house with soothing sound. Sachiko settled her katana more comfortably and allowed herself to relax. Those "episodes" had only begun recently. Always filled with bloody swords, screams, and scarlet.

They drained her.

Before, she could complete her assignments in relative peace. Now, the past couldn't seem to leave her alone.

Who was Michiko anyway? Where did this bloody chapter fit into her life? The rain gave no answer to her inward cries. Water hissed outside, against the cobblestones. Listening to the rain, here, she could forget everything. The rain always soothed her and calmed her. She preferred the rain to sunlight. It cleansed the whole world, let her thoughts and feelings wash away in the calming water.

Sachiko stared idly at the katana sheathed at her side. She pulled the handle and a few inches of steel came sliding out of the sheath. It shone, momentarily. Memory came; flashes, unbidden and unwanted.

_Happiness. Fireflies and fishing on blue days. Mother, father, sister? People. A family. Laughter. Comfort and warmth. No blood. Walking on paths. _

_No blood. __No blood staining her hands, no blood on the sword she didn't own yet. Her soul not yet weighed down by the death of so many others, all at her hands. Peace. Happiness. Comfort and joy. Bliss. Freedom. The sky so blue, so high, clouds white and soft. Sunlight and breezes, shining seas. Joy. Then…_

_Screams. _

"_Why? Why are you doing this!" Sobs. Someone…who? A long blade, crimson, thick, dripping. _"_NOOOOOO!" Pain-filled, heartrending shriek. Michiko? _"_RUN, Sachiko-chan! Run away from here! Hide! Go!" _

_Dazed. Hiding. But…a shadow. Man-shaped. _

_Michiko, screaming, eyes tortured and fearful. Insane eyes…Lovely hair trailing to the floor, stained red. __Then…steel. Blood. Waves of blood. Every person she ever killed…innocent bystanders who merely saw what they should not, criminals, assassins…all crying out tears of blood. She scrubbed at her hands. Blood. Blood! Blood everywhere! Harder, harder, get the blood OFF! _

Sachiko found she was clenching her fists. The pain woke her from her horrible images. Little white indents were left on her palms from where the had nails bitten in. She half expected to see her pale hands drenched in blood—but they were clean. Clean of visible blood. They were still soaked in memories.

"Well, Sachiko-san. We meet, finally."

She hadn't noticed anyone in the room. Briefly, worridly, she realized her defences were down. Whipping towards the sound of the voice, she bared her katana against smooth skin, voices pushed away in the face of a fight, silver eyes dropping to a deadly sheen. She stopped when the person didn't move at all. She was leaning over him, her torso unguarded in a moment of mistake. They were at a standstill.

"Ah. Hello to you too." The voice, a deep baritone, buzzed in her ear. Red hair tickled her cheek as it swished slightly.

Instantly, she threw herself backwards and crouched as Hitokiri Battousai ducked and flew upwards, katana extended, and landed silently behind her. If she had been there, the sword would have disemboweled her. Now, it only served to mark her spot as she moved.

By the time Battousai landed, Sachiko was there. Once more, a blade pressed into soft skin.

Battousai chuckled. "My! How did Katsura-san ever hide you? I call a truce, Sachiko-dono. I come on more important matters than fighting tonight."

Sachiko didn't delude herself. She knew Battousai could have flicked her blade away and dismembered her. He could have won. _But not before getting dealt a couple of mortal wounds,_ she thought wryly. One great swordsman knew another.

So she smiled back. Legendary Hitokiri Battousai. The name enough to strike fear greater than an army of soldiers could. Her…associate? Yes, in employ of Katsura. But…perhaps the only one who was her equal, if not better.

Therefore, the only one who could possibly be a threat to her. She would have to tread carefully.

"And what would that important thing be, Battousai?" she asked quietly. Battousai gave a feral grin, amber eyes dangerous.

"No telling till that blade goes down, Sachiko-san." She complied. When her katana was in sheathed, she spoke again.

"While we're being oh so polite, Battousai-san (he snorted), then please, grace my humble floor with your most illustrious ass."

She was slightly angry at this man and the unease she felt around him. Battousai grinned again at her barb.

"Why thank you, Sachiko-dono. That will suffice admirably." Gracefully, fluidly, Battousai slid onto the floor and settled there, adjusting his katana to comfort. Sachiko sat also, placing her hands across her lap, easily accessible to her sword.

She observed the most feared man in all of Japan.

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_Sachiko's met Battousai! How in the world can Kyoto house those two (the way a zoo does)? Don't worry, I am a Karou & Kenshin supporter and Sachiko and Battousai won't have anything going on...unduly. Heehee, I'll leave everyone to wonder what that means! I'll look forward to more tormenting of Sachiko and angsty darkish drama. Thank for reading, please review! (My mantra)_


	3. Chapter 3 The Dragon and the Tiger

**SHADOWS OF RED  
**_by Hime-kou_

**Author's notes: **_More editing! And revising! And general resurrection of Shadows of Red! This is a long chapter, since I combined to overly short chapters. This story is finally improving, I think. YAY! Thank goodness for holiday breaks and lots of time to revise. _

**Disclaimer: **_Yesh. Not mine. Nope. _

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Chapter 3-The Dragon and the Tiger (Rev.)

Hitokiri Battousai was a man of slight build. His height she guess to be around 158 cm. His manners were impeccable. Amber eyes slanted dangerously, glinting from behind strands of scarlet hair—hair which fell over his eyes, messily pulled up into a high ponytail, and cascading downwards into a waterfall of brilliant color.

His eyes…they caught and held, forever burning. A cold flame. But what was the fuel that fed the flame? What was that darkness in the center of the fire? Involuntarily, she shivered. In those eyes, souls could drown and never find eternity. Whatever ease he gave out, it wasn't real. Killer eyes, those were. Eyes that had seen a thousand deaths. And hadn't she?

Slim, but lithe under a blue gi and grey hakama, Battousai filled the apartment with his intensity and power. A killer's aura, tightly kept. But underneath, something else. Rage? Bitterness? Sorrow? Torment? She did not know. She could not read this man.

"Sachiko-dono," he said, breaking her train of thought.

"Katsura-san has come up with something for us to accomplish. Now, I have heard of you…but only once. The Lady Shadow, Hikage-hime, right?" Sachiko laughed bitterly at the nickname.

"Yes, you are correct. Also given the names of whore, evil, assassin, and so on," she said sarcastically. "I'm surprised they don't love me."

Images of furious, tear-filled, grief-stricken relatives swearing at her, shouting, past fear as they saw her standing over loved ones' bodies, silver eyes empty, blood dripping from steel…Women and children killed by her hands for witnessing their family members' murders. They fell under her blade too. She couldn't leave any witnesses.

"I have heard of you too, Battousai. Katsura-san has told me some about you, and other information I have garnered from gossip floating around Kyoto. I hear much, on my assignments." She said the last grimly, and saw an answering emotion steal into Battousai's amber eyes, then flicker away. Gone, like smoke from a fire into the wind.

"You are the most famous killer in Japan. I am honored," she said emotionlessly. "How did you find this house?"

Battousai shrugged. "Katsura-san told me the street and I followed your ki."

Sachiko swore inwardly. Her ki had been masked! How could he have found his way here? This man was a danger to her. He couldn't be underestimated. Yet she was intrigued.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Battousai watched the woman before him. She had silver eyes, dangerous silver eyes. Eyes that sucked the will to live from anyone after staring into their bottomless depths for too long. Eyes that were so empty they were full, filled with emotioins and thoughts he couldn't read or name. Her ki was faint—she probably masked it then. Long, thick black hair, pulled into a high ponytail, not unlike his own. Aristocratic features, worthy of nobility. Ivory skin, creamy white. Shadow-bleached skin. Secret skin.

Slight of build, willowy slim, but undoubtedly strong. Perhaps one or two centimeters shorter than him. Black gi, grey hakama. One undoubtably sharp steel sword, now sheathed. One long katana, also sheathed. This female hitokiri, the only one among them all. Deadly—a killer. Like him…

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­"Continue, Battousai." Sachiko's voice, hard as her katana, broke the silence. "What does Katsura-san want us to do?"

Battousai looked thoughtful, then said, cautiously, "Katsura-san…some of our men are being killed, and it seems to be by one person—the victims have all died with one slash to the throat. And they were seasoned soldiers too, men who could, and would, fight. A slash to the throat…that took skill."

His voice was reflective, unemotional. To him, death was no stranger. Nor was death a stranger to Sachiko. No longer. Not for a long, long time.

"Katsura-san believes the one doing the killings is the Bakufu's Shadow Assassin. We are to…work together…to find him," he said flatly. "Or her," he added upon thought.

Sachiko stared at him in disbelief. _Two _hitokiris? Working _together?_ Obviously, this hitokiri for the Bakufu must be pretty powerful. Or perhaps, Katsura knew something they didn't. But still…it went against all of her hitokiri instincts. Plus, she didn't know if she could trust Battousai quite yet—if ever. But Battousai wasn't done.

"We are to stay together in Kyoto for three weeks, "he said stiffly. "Live…together." Sachiko was completely, utterly leveled.

She was a solitary person. She preferred to live alone, fight alone, eat alone. She almost hated the thought of living with this man that could so unsettle her. Scratch that, she did hate this man, waltzing in and telling her what to do. Sent by Katsura, too. She didn't want to get to know him, she didn't want to work with him, holy hell she DID NOT WANT TO LIVE WITH HIM!

"No," said Sachiko flatly. "No, that _will not_ work." Battousai looked just as uncomfortable, as set against the idea. Actually, Sachiko knew that for all her arguments, it most likely would happen. No one dared to go against Katsura. Not even his secret hitokiri. But she could damn well try.

She shook her head vehemently, until Battousai gave a terse growl and bit out, "I don't like it either, Sachiko-dono, but _we must obey_." His tone brooked no argument. Sachiko had known there never would be one.

"Very well, but don't try anything stupid, Battousai. I'm warning you…" She let her voice trail off and fingered her blade. The man laughed (insufferable, that Battousai!), then stood smoothly.

"Very well, as you said, Sachiko-dono. I believe Katsura has quarters prepared for us on the northern side of Kyoto. I will greet you here tomorrow at nine in the morning and we will head over that way. Arigatou, Sachiko-dono. Oyasuminasai."

With that, Battousai slid the shoji back and stepped out. Sachiko could hear his deep voice speak to Mayumi politely, then Mayumi's giggle. _Womanizer, _she thought sourly. _Must be that red hair.

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The night was filled with restless tossing. The faces of her victims came back to haunt her in her sleep.

Michiko—who was she?—screamed and pleaded for mercy as Sachiko slid her katana into her heart.

Waves upon waves of crimson liquid poured from the skies and from the seas. She tossed and turned, hair tangled into ebony knots which would never unravel.

Morning was a welcome relief from the night. The sun was not yet up—she always woke early. Her nightmares refused to let her sleep easily. Detachedly, Sachiko wondered if Battousai ever had nightmares. Did he dream about all those he had killed? Did they reach for him with fingers stained red and dripping with memories? As long as she could recall, she had never had a good night's sleep. Rest eluded her. It was her punishment.

With a groan, Sachiko remembered Battousai's promise last night, and hauled herself up.

She was eating at the low table when a voice called out, "Gomen kudasai." Mayumi-chan ran past Sachiko to answer and called back, "Sachiko-san, Battousai-san's here."

Sachiko laid her chopsticks down angrily. Now he had her serving girl all devoted to him. He really was an insufferable man!

"I know. I'm coming," was her cold reply.

When she stepped out into the genken, she wore an extremely ugly expression on her face. She carried a bag and wore her katana at her side. She was wearing a kimono.

"You look beautiful, Sachiko-dono," said Battousai graciously.

She cursed him under her breath.

"I'm _not_ wearing a kimono because I want to, just to let you know," Sachiko hissed. "The things I sacrifice for you."

Battousai grinned.

Together, they set out towards their new home, Sachiko constantly going through a tirade, under her breath, of how she hated the man in front of her.

"…stupid red hair, kami-sama, like a _lighthouse_…"

They tried to avoid the large streets. They couldn't very well use the rooftop route in broad daylight, nor could Katsura send a carriage—it would seem suspicious in a not-so-prosperous section of Kyoto. They had no choice but to go through side streets, ducking towards shadows. Battousai was wearing a men's kimono in an effort to hide what he was. But the red hair…inevitably, whispers followed their path.

"Look!"

"Isn't that—yes. That's Battousai. The red hair…stay away from him."

"He killed 100 people in six months, didn't you hear?"

"Who's he with? She's beautiful, who'd be with Battousai?"

Sachiko's anger grew. It threatened to overwhelm her. Battousai, carrying her bag, was stiff also. The words were needling her, like thousands of mosquitoes buzzing in her ears. Stupid civilians with a death wish. She was shaking.

"Battousai's women. It must be. But she looks like nobility. Battousai…damn him. Dog, he belongs in hell."

Battousai's hair hid his eyes but Sachiko could read his ki. It was unfettered, for once, and now it blazed with anger. Anger and…remorse? Yes. Remorse and regret. Sachiko nearly stopped in amazement.

"Why's _he_ here? Ishin Shishi dog."

She knew her eyes were what people called 'simmering'. Apparantly, Battousai was too busy feeling remorseful to do anything. So she held up a hand to him, and turned to face the crowd which had gathered behind him.

"What are you talking about?" Her words were quiet and deadly. "You do not know. You know _nothing_. Do not _dare_ to judge."

Silence.

Sachiko faced off with the crowd, her silver eyes blazing with anger.

"You will all _be quiet_ after I turn around. You _will_ walk away and keep your lips from flapping, saying meaningless things that puff between your ears. _Now_."

Battousai was watching her. He could barely contain his surprise. She had been quietly walking next to him, and then she had stopped and confronted the entire crowd.

And cowed them, it seemed. For as she turned away, jaws clenched together in anger, they turned away also. Only a few dared to whisper. The rest left.

"Let's go, Battousai-san." Her voice crackled with fury. He obeyed. It almost made him laugh, to see Sachiko angry. Her eyes were frightening, it was true, but a her pale cheeks were faintly blushed with anger. She looked so out of place in a kimono.

He had been given directions by Katsura and he willingly shared them with Sachiko. The nearest safehouse was in the next neighborhood—close enough if danger truly arrived. Sachiko was still angry. Strangely enough, he felt lighter as he watched her rant about the stupidity of people. She looked ready to hit a brick wall—and break it. They almost didn't notice when the men arrived, a mob of them, running on sake and combined anger. They drew near, waving katanas and shouting.

"Death to Battousai! Ishin Shishi bastard!"

"Blood to blood, let the assassin die!"

Battousai dropped his pack and pushed Sachiko behind him. The mob advanced down the street on both sides, sandwiching Battousai.

"Kill him!"

A stone flew out. It struck Battousai on the shoulder. He didn't flinch—nor did he draw his sword. "Go away. You have nothing against me and I have nothing against you. You would be wise to leave this place." His voice was steely and cold.

Sachiko trembled with rage. With a snarl, she shoved him aside.

"These bastards. I can take care of them too, you know. I'm not a helpless female," she spat. They noticed her.

"It's Battousai's whore. My, what a pretty one."

A man leered from twenty feet away. "Come here, little girl. I'll protect you from scary Battousai."

They had formed a ring around them, twenty feet in radius. Battousai's ki and reputation still cowed them but they were drunk and the sake would overcome their reason soon. Another stone flew.

Then, a rain of them.

* * *

**Of interest**

**1. Hikage-hime...**the literal translation of Lady Shadow. **Hime** means princess or lady of noble birth. It's actually quite appropriate for Sachiko...

**2. Womanizer...**ah! I do not intend to make Battousai into a playboy character. This is Sachiko speaking, the sarcastic, hate-everything-and-everyone-with-red-hair person. She's intent on disliking him _because_ she likes him. She doesn't want to show her weakness, even to herself. Plus he mystifies her and she doesn't want to become unprotected, so she convinces herself of reasons why she needs to hate him.

**3.Gomen kudasai...**that's what most people call out when they enter another person's house without a doorbell or a buzzer. It's like saying "hello" politely.

**4. 158 cm...**about 5'3" (Battousai's the same height as me, heee!)

**5. Kami-sama...**kami are gods in Shinto religion, so it's basically saying, my god. **Sama** is a polite title added when talking to someone (or something) that has a higher status than the speaker. In actuality, **dono**, meaning lady or lord, has a higher meaning but sama has been traditionally used with kami.

_Thank you so much for reading! Please review. _


	4. Chapter 4 Black Mirror

**SHADOWS OF RED  
**_by Hime-kou_

**Author's Notes: **_Another revised and combined chapter! For this one, I combined chapters 4 and 5 to get Black Mirror. Hope it doesn't get too confusing. Now I'm confused...hm, should I include my old author's notes?_

_Thanks to Firalyn Tiatra and Callisto Black for reviewing! Your reviews made me feel so nice! Thank you tons and tons! Now Hime-kou's in Happy Author Mode. And I sympathize with Callisto Black, as I have homework to do too...I finished off an essay for Health whilewriting. Ido realize that there's some problems with my writing...and everything just happens too conveniently! Should work on that. But thanks again!_

**Disclaimer: **_Product of over-active imagination, Ruroken not mine. _**

* * *

**

Chapter 4-Black Mirror

Battousai didn't draw his sword. A stone grazed his forehead and drew blood. Stones whirred past Sachiko, one catching her on the leg. She grimaced and crouched lower.

"Battousai!" she said. "Why don't you draw your sword? We could finish them here…"

"No!"

The word caught her off balance. It was filled with agony and fury, helplessness and anger. Battousai was standing with his shoulders back, his eyes closed.

"I cannot. These people…they haven't harmed me, Sachiko-dono. They haven't done anything wrong! Could _you _kill them in cold blood?"

Sachiko shivered. Could she? Stones continued to fly, and the mob pressed closer.

"Enough of this." Sachiko mouthed the words and drew her katana. The sight momentarily confused their attackers. A woman, drawing a sword? A tiger petting a lamb?

She leveled the sword at them. "_Get out."_ Ashes began to whirl and choke the air, blinding the men.

"Damn her! I can't see in all this filthy dust! Where's the whore?"

Sachiko turned and grabbed Battousai's gi. "Let's go, before the Bakufu comes and sees us."

Together, they jumped onto the rooftops and ran the last street to their new house, leaving the mob behind in a whirlwind of ash and dust. Confused shouts rang from somewhere in the vortex of dust. Their cries were attracting onlookers, people coming out of houses to watch. Sachiko knew the word would spread soon enough about Battousai and his ash-making woman. Hopefully, the men had bad crediblity. After all, who would believe that some _woman_ had drawn a _sword _and actually used _swordsman's spirit?_ Why the men must have been drunk and hallucinating.

Sachiko nearly smiled as she grimly contemplated what the men must look and sound like. Claiming that a _woman_ did that to them would make them seem like liars. In a time when men ruled, women were not supposed to do anything. _Shows what stupid idiots people can be at times,_ Sachiko thought with satisfaction.

Sachiko followed Battousai's brightly waving hair. She couldn't help but mutter about it's annoyng color. As she prepared to jump lightly down to the back door of a house, her kimono caught on a tile and Sachiko went tumbling gracefully down towards the hard earth. She landed with a thump, sending shooting pains up her shoulder. Battousai looked down at her in…amusement? Anger at the man forced her to her feet, ignoring the hand he extended to her. _Stupid man. Stupid, insufferable, hateful man,_ Sachiko seethed.

A woman slid open the shoji for them, taking their dirty tatami sandals away. She murmured a quiet, "Konnichiwa," and slid away, melting into the house. She returned moments later, taking each hitokiri to the washroom and giving them new clothing. Provided by Katsura of course.

It was when they were both freshly clothed and sitting when Sachiko remembered that her pack had been left on the street.

"Damn it!" She said as she jumped up. Battousai looked up.

"What is it?" Concern showed on his face, but Sachiko was too agitated to notice.

"My pack! I—no, you—left it in the street with those bastards! I've got to go get it!"

Battousai regarded her in surprise. A pack? She was this unsettled for her pack?

"Gomenasai, Sachiko-dono. But I doubt it's still there. Besides, it's getting dark. It wouldn't be safe to go out."

"You forget. I'm used to the dark, Battousai-_san_. I _am_ a hitokiri after all." The words were spoken with venom and a hint of despair.

He had forgotten. She was a hitokiri, wasn't she? The only one who could possibly stand up to him and survive. A very good hitokiri indeed.

"I need that pack," she ended in a whisper.

She sat again. Silence filled the room. They sat for eternity like that, it seemed. The quiet pressed down on Sachiko, filling her with despair. The same despair drove her to open her mouth and talk, despair mingled with a curious need to confide in Battousai.

"All that's left of my family was in there."

The words were spoken quietly now, and resigned.

"When I began to work for Katsura-san, all that I had left of my childhood was a blank memory and a comb. My mother's comb, it seems. Katsura-san said they found it in the kimono I was wearing. It was…important to me. I don't even know what she looked like, my mother. Or who was in my family. I can't remember anyone anymore."

Silence fell again. Battousai contemplated what she had said. His own past was painful and he didn't like to remember it. Now hers sounded just as horrible. Perhaps the misery in his own soul was mirrored by the misery in hers.

"I began working for the Ishin Shishi when I was fourteen," he said in turn, accepting her story and giving his own. "I went against my master's wishes and joined, hoping to bring some good to this world."

He recalled the number of people he had killed, the blood that stained his hands.

"But all I've brought is a reign of blood and fear."

The calluses that traced his hands would never go away. They were the mark of the swordsman, the mark of a killer. Blood stained his hands in his dreams, every night, the the blood came to haunt him.

Sachiko turned a little. "The gods know I've brought blood and fear also," she said quietly.

A sense of companionship filled the room. One killer would always know another.

"Ah, Battousai. And Sachiko-san, how wonderful!"

The voice split the peaceable silence that had developed between them.

The man who stood at the door was a stranger to her. But Battousai looked up and grimaced.

"Iizuka-san," he said flatly.

The man nodded and smirked. "Well, well, Battousai. Got yourself a woman, huh? And you so young..."

Sachiko decided she hated him too. He lounged against the frame, grinning. He evidently had no value for his life.

"What are you talking about, Iizuka? She's not my…my woman…er…" Battousai stammered out, his face red.

Sachiko fought the urge to giggle. Giggle! And she hadn't laughed in ages. But the sight of Battousai blushing like a little boy…the laughter tickled at the back of her throat. She knew nothing of him. She understood nothing of him. She didn't understand how he could be a cold-blooded killer one moment, grief-filled adult the other, and finally, a truly adolescent boy.

"Well, whatever. Anyway, Katsura-san's got an assignment for the both of you. Separately, of course. Here, Battousai." Iizuka tossed Battousai a black envelope. Sachiko watched as a grim look stole over the assassin's face and the embarrassmentdied out of his eyes.

"As for you, Sachiko-san…my, I've only heard of you from Katsura-san once, and I didn't even know you were a woman. It was only today that he told me you were one. It'll sure throw the Bakufu from following our trail! What _proper_ woman would be a hitokiri?"

He laughed again, ignoring Sachiko's hand wandering to the hilt of her katana or Battousai's glare. Evidently, this man was either extremely powerful or incredibly stupid.

"Here, hime. This is your assignment."

He tossed a black envelope to her. She caught it and couldn't help but sense herself tensing up. An assignment. More blood.

"Now, get going my friends." With that, Iizuka turned and strolled out, leaving the two to contemplate their burdens.

Battousai nodded at her, curtly, and stood. "I'll be going then." She didn't ask him his assignment. Nor did he ask about hers. He just turned and walked out, the peace that had been between them before, torn, the cold-blooded killer returning.

She sighed and opened her own envelope.

_Mogami Kaito_

A retainer of Matsudaira Shungaku, Daimyo of Aizu. Aizu supported the Bakufu and the Shogunate. Some of her other…assignments had been people from Aizu and people of Matsudaira also. Matsudaira was actually related to the shogun—he was a powerful ally of the shogunate.

_8:00 At Heian Jingu Shrine. _

_Thought you'd be safe if you were in a place of the gods, huh? _Sachiko thought grimly. _In this age and time, the gods are dead to us all._

She stood. Gathering her katana, she wondered briefly where Battousai's assignment was, then shook it off.

It was time to kill.

* * *

**Of Interest**

**1. Tiger petting a lamb...**ha, ha, ha. What a BAD simile. But it's supposed to be one, since tiger's don't pet lambs. They eat them.

**2. Ashes...**Sachiko's swordsman's spirit. I think it's too sexist to say, swordswoman, cause she's just as powerful (and more so) than most men. Rather like Kenshin's leaf stuff in his battle with Shishio? That was so awesome.

**3. Iizuka...**this man was Kenshin's supposed "friend" in his Battousai years. In actuality...read or watch Ruroken to find out!

**4. Matsudaira...**this was the name of the Tokugawa shogunate before they changed it to, well, Tokugawa. The first shogun was a man named Tokugawa Ieyasu, son of Matsudaira Hirotada. So the Matsudaira house is closely related to the Tokugawa Shogunate. The family was immensely powerful and loyal to the Shogunate.

_Thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying it, please drop a review. _


	5. Chapter 5 Cherry Trees

**SHADOWS OF RED**

**Author's note**: _Sorry! I forgot to mention in the previous chapter that for my story's purposes, I've set the building of the Heian Jingu Shrine to an earlier time. Otherwise Sachiko would be visiting a non-existent shrine…delusion? Not as much as Hime-kou! Sorry…_

_In this chapter, Sachiko gets to show off her fighting skills! _

_**Disclaimer:** I've forgotten to put these up for the past few chapters…please excuse me:bowing: A thousand pardons to Nobuhiro Watsuki! Kenshin isn't mine!

* * *

_

**Chapter 5-Cherry Trees**

Heian Jingu Shrine. One of the most public places in Kyoto. She watched the people happily milling about below her.

Mothers in kimonos holding their children by the hand on their ways home. Laughing, as they passed under her perch, up on the roof of the Outen-mon.

Briefly, Sachiko felt remorse at having to kill in such a beautiful place.

The Outen-mon's beautiful blue roof stood in contrast with the darkening sky. The setting sun's light touched the vermillion wood of the building and turned it into blazing gold.

She was crouched into a corner of the building on the second floor. No one looked up. Her black hair tossed in the autumn wind that blew gently from the north.

She closed her eyes. Searching the shrine for the any ki not usually associated with common people. A toughened ki, a deadly ki…she found it.

Not one. Five.

They were in the Minami Shin'en garden. Silently, Sachiko dropped from the Outen-mon onto the ground. Stealing through the emptying shrine, she made her way to the south garden.

The cherry trees that adorned the garden were bare of their blossoms now. The branches shivered slightly as the wind rattled amongst them. Hagi bushes bloomed along beautiful paths.

They were up ahead. Seven bodyguards surrounding one man in a grey kimono. She could hear their voices.

"Nonsense! Why can't I linger here to appreciate this garden's beauty?" The voice was Mogami Kaito's, it seemed.

"But…sir, it's getting late. And you are an honored retainer of our lord and the rebels would be a glad to—"

The bodyguard who spoke was cut off by a wave of Kaito's hand.

"With all of you, no one can possibly get through to me. Now, I am your employer also, and you will follow my instructions. Just a while longer."

_You idiot_, Sachiko thought fiercely. _Now you have sealed your fate with death. _

The first guard fell without a noise, throat slit.

In a flash, Sachiko doubled back, turning. She used her spinning force to carry her through towards another guard. He fell with a gurgle, blood spurting from his chest.

The element of surprise was over. Now, five guards formed a ring around their employer, katanas drawn. Sachiko skidded to a stop directly in front of them.

"Go!"

Two men charged Sachiko, while two more came from the sides trying to capture her in the center. They were evidently well trained.

She faced the two who were charging. In a flash, she crouched, trying to draw them into leaping onto her from above. Sure enough, their feet tensed and they leaped into the air, shouting their forms.

She tensed her leg muscles, bracing her feet against the ground. With a swift stroke, she drove her katana into the ground. The force of the impact blew dirt and stones up. Then bracing her feet for leverage, she wrenched it from the ground, letting her motion carry through.

"Hiyou Ryuu Ko!" And she began.

The sword pierced one man as he landed. It went through his chest and she tugged it back, then whipped it in a circle to slice into the throat of the second man.

They fell, blood spurting everywhere.

"No!"

The cry came from her right. Instantly, Sachiko dropped down again. _Stupid. You just gave away your position._

He was a young man and horror filled his eyes when he saw his fallen companions, blood seeping into the thirsty earth of the peaceful garden.

With a wild cry, he charged her, sword wild, all sense of bearing gone. With a quick swipe, she decapitated him.

Suddenly, she sensed the air behind her move and ducked to avoid the katana that missed her by a hair.

This remaining man's ki was also horrified, but more under control. She left her back open, as bait, while her hand shifted marginally on the katana.

He took it.

_Too young_, she thought bleakly. _No accomplished swordsman leaves their back wide open to their opponent._

With a leap, she came upright and flipped over him. It was a matter of seconds and he lay bleeding on the ground, eyes dimming.

There was blood on her hair and clothing. It dripped from her katana.

"You're…a woman," a voice said reflexively. "Never thought I'd see this but, I guess times have gotten hard enough for everything. Now it's just you and me, hime. And I won't underestimate you."

She turned to face him.

* * *

**Author's note:**_There we go with chapter seven, the first chapter that has a real fight scene in it. That was so hard! I actually drew a diagram to help with that...my, who knew this much work went into writing a fanfic? I hope you like the fight...please review! Tell me if it makes no sense whatsoever or if it's actually okay. Thanks!_

_The Japanese Words and what they mean_

1. _**Outen-mon...**this isa beautiful gate in the Heian Jingu Shrine. It really does have a blue roof and vermillion painting. Once again, this was built later than this story but for my purposes, I've set it in an earlier year. _

_2. **Minami Shin'en...**the south garden of the Heian Jingu Shrine. A place designed to hold Kyokusui-no-en, a garden party for aristocrats during which they wrote poems. In the spring, the garden is full of cherry blossoms, followed by Japanese azaleas in the summer. _

_3. **Hagi...**Japanese bush clover, found in the Minami Shin'en._

_4. **Hiyou Ryuu Ko...**this is one of Sachiko's attack from her two-step attacks. Translated roughly, it means flying (or to fly) style tiger. Actually, the "ko" is the last part of the word "mouko" which means fierce tiger. It is a single character of its own. To use it, Sachiko slams her katana into the ground, creating shock waves, much like Battousai's Dou Ryuu Sen. But then she yanks it out again, letting the yanking motion gather force for the actual strike. If the strike misses or there is more than one target, she can continue the motion into a spin, gathering yet more momentum. _

_And that's all for chapter 7!_


	6. Chapter 6 Truth upon the Ground

**SHADOWS OF RED**

**_Author's note(s):_** _THANK YOU SO MUCH! Thanks to the sacred night for all of your reviews! I noticed that I totally messed up in some places...but I'm too lazy to go back and actually change it, then upload it again, and whatnot. Thanks for pointing out my idiotic problems though. Here's what I have to say:_

_the sacred night: The womanizer thing. Trying to interject some humor. It apparantly didn't succeed. Or Sachiko's just being the sour person she is. Like a grapefruit. __The pseudo-fight (haha, that makes me laugh) Sachiko's trying not to be a stuck-up ass and admitting she's probably not as good as Battousai. But she does say that he'd get a few key wounds...meaning life-threatening or serious injuries. Trying to make her humble. _

_Thank you again! And please tell me if I make anymore (stupid) mistakes. Goes to show I need to proof-read._

_

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_

**Chapter 6-Truth upon the Ground **

He was a tall man, but not broad or muscular, garbed in a simple grey gi and white hakama. Short-cut black hair tossed in the wind. He stood before his employer, straight-backed and apparently at ease.

"Before we begin…" his voice was smooth and betrayed no fear.

"Would you be as kind as to give me your name? I am truly amazed to meet one such as you, hime. You fight as ten of my men."

His gloved hand went to his katana.

"I promise I will whisper it to the winds as an offering when I have your head."

Sachiko grinned at him.

"Why, I'd rather know your name, good sir," she replied equally lightly.

Tensing slightly, she pointed her katana upward.

"It will be written amongst the thousands of others who have fallen to this sword."

With a clean sweep, she ran forward to meet him.

Bringing her katana upwards, she slashed at his throat.

Steel rang against steel.

"Blocked. Who hired you?"

She disengaged, darting to the side.

"I'll never tell you, will I?" she said with a mock smile.

In the moment he took to straighten up, she slammed into him, sword extended to pierce his side.

He parried.

_He's not that bad,_ Sachiko thought with surprise. _I can challenge this one._

"What, getting tired and slow?" he taunted as he whipped his katana upwards to miss her throat by a hair.

"No…just lazy."

They fought, steel meeting steel numerous times. Soon, he began to sweat and stumble. Sachiko felt her breath coming a little harder.

_All right then. We'll play,_ she thought grimly.

Taking her katana, she slid her fingers back along the hilt, until she barely had a grasp on the sword.

This time, when he swung, her missed her entirely.

"What did you do!" he yelped as she ducked into his zone.

"Nothing for you to know, my friend," she bit out and swept her katana along his legs. A razor thin line of blood sprang out.

Suddenly, he crouched and tossed away his katana. A grin lit his face and bloodthirst entered his eyes.

"Then I'll just show you my own little secret," he said.

Out of nowhere, two small blades shot towards Sachiko. She twisted, barely avoiding being slashed. As it was, a cut welled up on her cheek.

She leaped back.

He held two short swords and spun them by their rotating hilts. Coupled with centrifugal force, his weapons became ten times as deadly.

"Your blood will wash my blades when this is over!" With a yell, he charged forward, rotating his blades _and_ his arms. The swords whirred and became a blur.

"Ah, but you forgot one thing," Sachiko whispered.

She sprang into the air, turning high above him.

_**When you spin your weapons, you lose control over their precision and speed!**_

She could see the ground coming up and turned a final spin, the world momentarily blurring but for a patch of grey.

"_Rosu Hiyou Kou!"_

The ground trembled as she landed, facing away from the man, arms pulled backwards by her katana.

It protruded from the man's chest, shining steel the center of a bulls-eye of spreading red.

"Your secret isn't enough to save you."

She turned and pulled her katana from his chest, watching as his eyes clouded over and his fingers dropped from his weapons.

She turned to face the man who she had set out to kill.

"You are a woman with a broken soul." The words were said calmly.

_What?_ Sachiko stood before Mogami Kaito in surprise.

"You are a hitokiri. That, I understand. But what look what you have done."

He gestured gracefully and Sachiko turned to look, compelled by an emotion she could not name.

Blood spilled everywhere over the peaceful garden. Men lay discarded like piles of garbage, their humanity gone with their lives.

"You have brought evil to a place where they had been none."

Her stomach twisted in anger. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about! What can you say, you Bakufu who go around making the lives of the people so miserable!"

Her katana trembled.

Kaito continued. "Ah, but my child. Who were you?"

_Who were you?_

The words struck her like a sword piercing her chest.

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"Who were you before this blood touched your life?"

He turned to contemplate the trees, still swaying gently under the dying sky and crimson sky.

"Who are you beneath the bloody mantle you wear?"

"Why do you do what you do?"

"SHUT UP!"

Sachiko, frenzied, stabbed her sword wildly at him. It struck him in the heart, and he doubled over with a gasp.

"What justice have you brought…to Kyoto?" he gasped out, blood spilling onto his kimono. He sank slowly to the ground.

"What…have y-you be…become…"

He crumpled in a heap leaving Sachiko standing alone in the garden filled with blood.

* * *

**_More notes and suchlike:_**

_I forgot, should clear something up. In the previous chapter, with the confrontation between Battousai, Sachiko, and the drunk mob, the part where ashes swirl? That's in response to Sachiko's swordsman's spirit. Rather like Kenshin's leaves and Shishio's fire for those who have read or seen RK. I chose ashes because she's a dark sort of person on the surface. _

**_Japanese terms and other random info_**

_**1. Rosu Ryuu Kou**...hahaha I laugh at my lame attempts to make up a sword style. This translates roughly as Downward Flying Tiger. Heehee, if you haven't noticed, Sachiko's "animal likeness" is a tiger. Rather like Battousai's being the dragon...Traditionally though, the tiger and the dragon are great enemies. We'll see what happens about that. _

_**2. The Reason why Sachiko changed her grip**...for all who haven't read RK, a swordman has his (or her, must be equal-opportunity) own "zone," or place where their sword/s can reach easily. To fight an opponent, one has to enter their zone, except for Kenshin's Dou Ryuu Sen. Thus Sachiko holding further down the hilt increases her zone and takes her further from her opponent's zone. In a fight, just a couple of centimeters can be the difference between being hit or not. _

_**3. What have I forgotten?**...apparently, the sun's still shining at eight in the fall. ? My imagination is running away from me._

_Onward!_


	7. Chapter 7 Interlude

**SHADOWS OF RED**  
_by Hime-kou_

_**Author's note:** I'm not that happy with this chapter, so I might revise it sometime. But right now, I felt like this story was going to slow. Sooo, I sped it up a tad. Boring...as...:falling asleep:_

_Kenshin's not mine, Battousai's not mine, etc. Makes me unhappy, but etc. _

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 7-Interlude**

She stood staring down at the man who lay crumpled on the ground, eyes open and staring. Not accusing…understanding.

A great red stain marred his grey silk kimono.

_Who were you?_

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the fallen man.

Slowly, the sky above darkened. Pinpoints of light made their appearances in the darkness swallowing the eastern sky. All that was left of the sun was a bloody smear of crimson.

Cold spread its clammy fingers across her feet and hands. The wind had died down to nothing. Everything was utterly still.

_Who were you?_

All her other victims had been fearful, pleading for their lives. But this one seemed to accept his fate and even mourn for her.

For her? He was the one knocking on the gates of Hell now.

But he had died justifying _her_ soul.

So who was one really in Hell?

With a shudder, Sachiko wiped her katana on grass. Carefully, she pulled out the slip of paper from her clothing and tossed it onto the man's dead body.

_Heaven's Justice_

As she turned to leave, she couldn't help but look back. The beautiful garden had taken on an unearthly color as blood stained leaves and flowers scarlet. The bushes were transformed into things of extraordinary beauty—if deceptive beauty.

She turned her back on it all and sped through the streets towards her quarters.

As she ran from rooftop to rooftop, she watched the city of Kyoto fall into a quiet night, ignorant of the blood that marred its most holy shrine.

Above, the stars shone down with impassioned light, witness to everything and silent to all. The blackness of space caught Sachiko's breath and the stars seemed to tear its perfect fabric into tiny jewels.

Pausing before her house, she regarded it fully for the first time. It was set behind high walls to discourage visitors, in one of the better parts of Kyoto. Nearly identical to the houses around the neighborhood, its only difference was the thick iron gate that closed off the opening between the walls.

She leaped onto the smooth walltop and made her way inside.

It was a welcome relief to be out of the cold.

But she wandered in circles searching for the washroom, only to trip over its tiled floor on her third circuit.

Cursing under her breath, she shucked her clothes and katana and poured hot water to cleanse herself.

The heat stung on her cheek. Reaching up a hand, she took it away smeared with red.

Blood.

She waited for the memories to come back and torture her, holding her finger in front of her face, tense with waiting.

Nothing came.

"Oh, I see," she snapped to herself, partially relieved and partially angry at her relief. "So when I expect you to come, you don't. Well, suit yourself. Don't you dare come back."

She waited again, seeing if, perversely, the images would rush in and drown her now that she had insulted them.

_Kami-sama_, she thought. _I'm like a teenager rebelling against my parent. It's a sure sign I'm going insane, then. Treating myself with disrespect… _

Greatly relieved, she dried herself off and stepped out into the hallway, searching for her room.

Miraculously, the serving woman appeared and gestured her towards the last room in the hallway. "This way, onna-san," she murmured, bowing low. Sachiko spared a glance at her before stepping through the shoji door, at her neat hair and immaculate kimono.

Inside, it was spacious and clean, supplied with a kimono neatly folded up into a square.

Of course it was the serving woman who wouldn't give her proper clothing. As if a kimono would make her a lady!

Fuming, she pulled it on and stomped out to speak to complain.

And suddenly turned to see Battousai standing in the doorway, blood dripping from his katana and clothing.

"Battousai-san…" she said, watching the liquid drip from his sword.

"Don't call me that!" he snapped.

"Sorry, I'll keep my tongue inside my mouth then," Sachiko snapped right back, her anger rising.

"Exactly, right where it'll cut you first," Battousai snarled at her, fury blazing in his ki. His hair was disheveled and all of his former manners had disappeared.

"What's up _your_ ass?" She retorted, angry at his barb.

Battousai glared at her. "I thought your tongue would stay inside your mouth!"

"I can speak when I want to!"

"Better go get it filed down, it's too sharp as it is."

"_What!"_

He shoved past her, amber eyes fierce and dangerous.

"I'm going to clean up. Go do whatever you want. Talk to the walls."

And he disappeared into the washroom.

Sachiko stared at his trail, hoping venomously to set his hair on fire. Then she sighed and sank down to sit against the wall.

She rather understood Battousai's anger. If he was anything like her...

Each time, after every man who died by her sword, it was as if she lost a little more of herself. As if her soul was being torn and frozen every time the last breath puffed from her victim's lungs.

Tonight, five men had died by her hand. Five more men.

And Mogami Kaito. The strangest victim she had ever encountered. She found herself wondering about his life…did he have a family? A wife? Did he possibly have…a daughter?

The thought made her throat close off.

Those were not the thoughts of a hitokiri.

* * *

_Horrible ending place, that was. Horrible chapter, overall. Totally pointless, all it did was get her home. And have a verbal fight with Battousai that I don't even like that much. Boring chapter overall. Seems like I'm hitting a writer's block.  
__  
But I'm hoping to get this all the way through!_

_**Points of Interest**_

_**1. Heaven's Justice**...I was contemplating making Sachiko's note Hell's Justice...but then I realized it would cause a huge commotion in Kyoto and of course, everyone isn't supposed to know that she exists. Thank god I caught that mistake! Now everyone assumes its just Battousai killing and leaving messages. _

_**2. The serving woman**_..._the image of the perfect woman. Quiet, deft, ladylike...thus Sachiko disliking her. And her attempts to rub femininism off on our oh-so-not-feminine heroine. _

_**3. Hime**...in response to the sacred night's question, hime means princess in Japanese. Often added to the end of noble unmarried ladies' names, like Matsuhime. _

_Onward, to a better chapter hopefully._


	8. Chapter 8 In the Eyes of the Beholder

**SHADOWS OF RED**_  
by Hime-kou_

_**Author's notes: **We get into Battousai's head! __Battousai is OOC for this...wayyy OOC. I can't even find him in there. _

_Kenshin is not mine! Nope, I don't even own the manga or anime. Poor...destitute...me..._

* * *

**Chapter 8-In the Eye of the Beholder**

Battousai seethed at the girl. How dare she? He was used to the fear he commanded, the respect, even if he didn't like it. So now this show of disrespect and fearlessness unsettled him.

_Of course, it's not like I actually deserve respect. The fear though..._

As he turned to leave the washroom, katana in hand, a glint of metal caught his eye. Leaning against a corner of the washroom was a sword.

Her sword.

_I'd better return this to her, and my apologies, _he thought as his anger drained away at the sight of such a killing tool. It reminded him that she wasn't just any girl. She was a hitokiri too.

_If she's anything like me..._he sighed and recalled the evening. Tonight it had been a daimyo named Kunii. He had been easy to kill. All the guards he had posted around his home did nothing to dispel Battousai.

Others, perhaps, would have been stalled, but not Hitokiri Battousai. Not the best of the best. One instant, sixteen men dead.

He surely must've looked like a demon then. Blood dripping from his katana, hair red as the liquid on his hands, eyes he knew to be an unnatural shade of amber.

But after he had turned to leave, away from the sea of broken bodies and bloody waves he had left, it was the sound that tore his heart the most.

Crying. Wailing.

Women and servants, screaming in pain. Heartrending. And he was forced to think, as he ran along the dark streets away from that bloody spot.

What did he know of Kunii? He might have been a good man. He might have been dignified and a had a sense of justice. He probably had a family. A wife, children...maybe even a son.

One like Shinta.

One who might turn out the way Shinta had.

All _he_ knew was that Kunii's name was written on a piece of paper in a black envelope.

And so he slashed. And so he killed.

Where was the justice in that?

Shuddering, he shook off his thoughts and walked over to grasp the katana.

It was a beautifully made sword, balanced and flawless. Approximately seventy-four centimeters long, it weighed less than his, of course, for a woman needed a lighter weapon. It was thinner also, but its side was as sharp as his though, and the sheen bright and beautiful.

The tsuka was worn smooth by use.

He carried it with him to his room. The girl--woman?--Sachiko was elsewhere in the house. So he quickly changed into clean clothes left on his bedroll and began to wander the house in search of her.

It was large, sparsely furnished, long and narrow. One main hallway radiated from the doorway, leading to the kitchen towards the back. Artfully arranged flowers and scrolls hung in the recessed alcoves along the hallway.

On the left was the washroom, next to the kitchen, and preceded by the main room. To the right, a narrow staircase extended upwards, towards the second story. Directly next to the stairs was his room, neighbored by hers.

Katana in hand, he decided to head upstairs. Perhaps she had found something to occupy her up there. Walking quickly, he pushed aside the door that hid the stairs and stepped in.

The stairs creaked and shivered when he stepped on them. A musty smell struck his senses, and dust lightly carpetedthe cool stairs. The staircase was narrow, enclosed, and steep. And dark. The walls pressed against him on either side, enclosing, squeezing. A heavy feeling seemed to seep from the darkness above, settling into his limbs and onto his shoulders.

Gradually, the natural light of night began to fill the stairway. He reached the final stair and stepped onto the second floor.

He was at one end of a large, open room. Two large, square, shoji windows behind him and two at the far end shone faint light into the dark room. He could see the smooth wood floor, dust now gathering above the dull surface.

Cobwebs dangled over his head. Silence settled heavily onto every surface. Here, no braziers or candles burned. This silent, dark, world was totally alien from the bright one downstairs.

_A training room_, he thought with wonder. A long unused one, but one nevertheless. His hand went unconciously to his saya and he burned with the desire to practice. It was this he truly loved. Not the killing, but the pure movements of a sword. A song, it seemed, that sang as his blade hummed through the air.

Wielding the sword not to harm, not to kill, but simply for the joy it gave him. At first, when he first began to train with Hiko, it had been that way. The joy of the sword and the sword only, not its power as a weapon to kill. Those few early years had been pure delight.

And he had tossed it all away.

Disillusioned, far too young, stubborn and proud. He had thrown away the very things that made him happy.

When he was younger, he desperately wanted to go and be "hero," to play at being the savior of people. It had been his dream to save the poor citizens of Japan, to give the bad people what they truly deserved.

Now, older, wiser, he wanted desperately to go back and be the humble apprentice he once was.

There was no glory in battle. There was nothing heroic about killing. And the people he had once deemed bad...were much more complex. No one in the world, he had discovered, was either "good" or "bad."

There was no boundary, drawn in steel and etched in rock, that divided people into good or bad. They all fought for what they believed in, and who was he to judge which was the better or the worse way?

People, in the end, were always people. Evil was merely in the eyes of the beholder. And all had eyes with which to see.

* * *

_**Points of Interest (i.e. don't know what else to call this...)**_

_**1. Tsuka**...the hilt on a sword. It is made up of the **ito **(braid), the **menuki**__(ornaments), the **fuchi** (hilt collar)the **tsuba **(guard), the **same** (rayskin), and the **kashira** (endcap). _

_**2. Sachiko's Technique**...Am just adding something to my info on Sachiko's technique. Hers is a form of battojutsu, or swords art with the intent to kill. Generally, swords forms that end in -do, such as kendo and iaido, teach the form to improve oneself. Styles that end in -jutsu, such as battojutsu and kenjutsu, are meant to teach the tecniques of war. _

_Sorry for the lack of updates! I hit a total writers block and didn't know _what_ to write. But here's a chapter that deals with philosophy and Battousai. Enjoy! _


	9. Chapter 9 These Strange Thoughts

**SHADOWS OF RED**_  
by Hime-kou_

_**Author's note: **Ahh! Am dying, very slowly, but dying nevertheless...actually, my story is. Took me forever to write this chapter. Am hitting a complete writers block that's as big as the Sears Tower. And wider. A Sears Tower on steroids. However, I seem to be getting back on track--I hope. And now that I look back, I wince at the first couple of chapters. Ouch. Maybe when I finish this, I'll go back and revise those chapters. But if you're reading this, thanks for following so far! _

_**Disclaimer:** Not mine. But I recently read the 20th volume of RK...WISH THAT WERE MINE! I love Kenshin as Battousai. Course, I love Kenshin as Kenshin. And then I realize my story is totally horribly wrong. Sigh. But, not mine._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 11-These Strange Thoughts**

The moon shone its liquid light over everything, a pure white disk in the inky night. The breath from her lips puffed and flowed upward towards the moon, smoky and insubstantial. The cold threatened to bite at her, but she brushed its numbing touch away. Grief overwhelmed her at this simple sight. The untainted moon, so high and unreachable. The shadows within her ate away at her soul until nothing but darkness was left. Loss and loneliness pooled in her stomach and burned away at her heart.

She sat on the stone steps leading down from the porch to the quiet garden behind the house. Moonlight gleamed on the pond that sat tranquilly in the middle. Walls surrounded the bushes and shrubs, secluding Sachiko. She seemed to be the only person in the entire world.

She had always liked fireflies. One of the only memories she had of her youth, she'd spent an evening chasing and catching those glimmering lights. Now, the air was dark and still, undisturbed. No lights came to comfort her now. She sat alone, in the darkness.

Weariness settled over her.

Idly, she picked up a pebble and tossed it into the pond. Ripples spread as it broke the smooth surface, distorting the moon's reflection. The white disappeared from the dark water…

"_Sachiko-chan? Are you ready?" A face smiling at her, a topknot of dark hair. A man's face. _

"_Hai!"_

_He laughed at her eager voice and picked her up gently, careful. A lovely woman, glimpsed in a room. Smiling gently at them. Light filling the room, a beautiful calligraphy scroll hanging next to the swords…_

Sachiko gasped. As she did, the memories faded and she was left, once again, in the dark garden. She felt as if there was a door in her memories and she was nearing it. But what would be on the other side?

All the darkness of Hell? Or the light of the Pure Land?

She shivered slightly, then turned as she sensed Battousai behind her. From her sitting position, he towered over her, amber eyes unreadable, bright hair gleaming.

"Here. You forgot your sword," he said simply and tossed the katana. Surprised, Sachiko caught it by the hilt. How could she have forgotten it? This sword was her way of life. Sometimes, it seemed as if her soul was locked inside the beautiful steel.

Fingering the hilt, still warm from Battousai's grasp, she looked away. She waited until she heard him turn away, before saying quietly, "Thank you."

He paused. They made a strange picture in the moonlight, the two hitokiri.

One with hair dark as death, the other with hair as bright as blood. He stood with his back to her, the lines of his body tense and still. She satas if frozen, silvereyes turned towards the darkest corners of the garden, as if they could pierce the shadows at will.

"It was nothing," came the cold reply.

A flash of light as the screen slid open, then a click and darkness reclaimed its land. Sachiko didn't move. Something important had passed between them, she could tell, but what it was, she didn't know.

She stroked the sheath of her sword. The thought of Battousai holding her sword made her feel strange, as if her territory had been invaded. But somehow, anger didn't rise within her at the thought of the amber-eyed hitokiri. She was slightly puzzled.

Confused, she rose to her feet, the unfamiliar kimono causing her to grimace and stagger slightly. Still holding her katana in its sheath, she made her way to the screen, chilled by the fall night.

_In the morning everything will be back to normal,_ she thought.

_In the morning…_

The shoji closed with a snap and the silence in the garden soon overwhelmed it, making it seem as if it nothing had ever happened.

* * *

Short chapter!

**Again, Points of Interest**

_**1. The Pure Land...**Also known as the Realm of Bliss. In Buddhism, this is the land where everyone can attain enlightment. I'm not Buddhist, so I don't really know. I'm not implying that Sachiko is Buddhist, or Shinto, or any other religion for that matter. It's merely a reference to a "good" place, where happiness is. Rather like, even if you're not Christian, most people know about Heaven and Hell and what they entail. Ack, now I've turned this into theology class. Please excuse me and please don't be offended if I said something that upsets you, I didn't mean it. _

_**2. Hai**...Most know what this means. For those who don't know, it means yeah or yes in Japanese. _

_Thanks for reading! Please review if you catch any mistakes I made or just to say something! I'd appreciate it. So would Sachiko, I'm sure. _


	10. Chapter 10 Peacock and Housewife

SHADOWS OF RED  
_by Hime-kou_

_**Author's notes: **Sorry about the delay! Once again, the Sears tower planted its enormous bulk in front of my path. Nearly squashed Sachiko, that it did. I'm hoping that you'll enjoy this chapter though, late as it is. I wrote it extra long too. Sachiko's changing...can you tell? And now I've been wondering at how long this fanfic will be. I'm at twelve chapters and they haven't even gotten through one week yet. My. I'm sorry! _

_**Disclaimer: **Disclaim Ruroken, that I do. Not mine. _

* * *

**Chapter 10-Peacock and Housewife**

She stirred lazily, the bright stream of sunlight flooding her face and turning the backs of her eyelids red. Carelessly, she flung an arm over her eyes and stretched, tangling the blanket covering her.

And bolted upwards, hair snapping and dark eyes suddenly wide open.

The sunlight?

Sure enough, the golden light flowed into the neat room, turning one wall into a mask of pure gold. Sachiko shook her head angrily. It wasn't like her to sleep past the hour of sunrise—nightmares usually woke her up far earlier than that.

She stepped out of the mess of blanket. It seemed as if the hour was still early, for the light was the gold of early sunrise. She knew it would fade soon, and the sun's usual harsh glare of white light would resume.

She discarded her sleeping yukata and donned yet _another _kimono that waited at the foot of her futon. It was accompanied by a white juban.

_Damn that serving woman, _she thought with renewed anger. _Just because I'm a woman, she expects me to be the same as her. Like hell I'm going to be some meek, subservient woman. I'm a hitokiri. _

But in actuality, the kimono's silk felt rather good, sleek and soft against her skin. As she slid it on, the smooth silk caught on the calluses from her sword. _I guess I'm not meant to wear this. All the more reason not to,_ she thought bitterly.

Yet it was a beautiful kimono, worthy of a princess. It was made of black silk, with bright red sakura blossoms falling in graceful arcs against the black background. The vibrant blossoms stood out vividly from the inky silk; hundreds of little round petals, as crimson as human blood.

Sachiko wondered at the symbolism, then decided it fit well with her. Fingers remembered times when she still wore kimonos, even if her mind did not. Swiftly, they folded the fabric over and tied the simple rose-colored obi in the back.

She felt as if she had shed her skin, shed her identity. Last night didn't count of course. She had just come from an assignment and hadn't had the time to contemplate her clothing too much.

Now, it was almost as if the sword that accompanied her always didn't exist. This girl in a kimono couldn't be Sachiko the hitokiri. Silk was much too refined a fabric for a killer to wear.

Yet as she turned to leave the room, her side felt empty from the unaccustomed space. The comforting weight of her sword was missing, and it seemed to create an empty space in her heart.

With a sigh, she trudged back and swept up her katana. Feeling more complete, yet strangely nervous, she left her room.

She hadn't gone two steps when her stomach rumbled. Immediately, she glanced around, oddly embarrassed by such an unladylike sound. Then she dismissed the thought, disgusted with herself.

She knew she made an odd picture, her long black hair unbound and wild, dressed in a kimono fit for court, clutching a katana like a nursemaid's hand. She probably looked like a creature of nightmares. A magpie in peacocks feathers. _No,_ she corrected herself. _A hawk in peacock's feathers. _

Her stomach rumbled again, more urgently. She hadn't eaten since yesterday, she recalled. Almost as soon as the thought flew from her mind, a delicious smell drifted past her nose. Cursing the gods for torturing her so, Sachiko followed the scent until it took her to the kitchen. She pushed aside the tapestry that covered the door and nearly fell over backwards in surprise.

As it was, she clapped her hands to her mouth dropping her katana with a painful bang, and tripped over the tiles on the floor.

The scene was so absurd, so out of context that she stared in complete bewilderment at first. And he glared at her, ears red.

Battousai chopping turnips. Chopping…turnips.

Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, beheading poor turnips with a marvelous efficiency. Steel flashed, the board thudded, and the turnips lost their heads. _Hiss, thunk, hiss, thunk, _went Battousai's kitchen knife. Briefly, Sachiko's utterly stunned mind produced the coherent thought, h_e'd make a wonderful housewife. _

And still he sent death glares at her that should have pinned her to the ground, dead as the turnips he sliced. His ears burned brighter.

Then the most terrible thing happened.

She laughed.

* * *

He hated it. Oh, how he hated it. Embarrassment. And he didn't even know why! He _knew _his ears were bright red. 

Even a hitokiri has his--or her--moments. And this was a rather spectacular one of his.

She rocked back and forth, laughing, the sound coming out choked and slightly rusty. Tears streamed down her eyes, wide open and guileless in mirth. He briefly took a moment to watch her with her guard down. He even stopped killing the turnips (he knew he was killing them. No sane person ever chopped that hard).

Her customary hakama and gi had been traded for a stunning kimono. It looked strange on her, but lent her an air of grace and feminity. Her ki was totally unguarded at the moment, and he sensed only surprise at herself, at him, and hilarity at the scene. She looked much younger than she had before. Perhapsthe same age as him,fifteen,and definitely not over seventeen. Her thick black hair tumbled over her shoulders, slightly tangled and obviously missing grace.

She was still laughing, but the laughter had died down. Abruptly, she stopped, as if realizing just what she had been doing. He continued glaring at her.

"Ah...sorry," came the abrupt words. He watched as she picked herself up and dashed the last tears of mirth from her eyes. It rather bothered him to see the carefree girl taken away and the shielded, cold-eyed, controlled hitokiri come back. Though, he wasn't one to judge. After all, he was just as cold-eyed and shielded, he knew.

It wasn't like he _could_ laugh. The deaths...early in his years working for Katsura and the Chosu, he had come to painful terms with his role in the Bakumatsu. No matter the pain he inflicted, no matter the pain piercing his heart and soul, he would bear it. He would bear it in atonement of his sins and in honor of those he killed. He wondered when the last time he laughed, truly, freely, laughed, had been. And he couldn't remember.

However, that didn't stop him from being embarrassed.

Uncomfortable silence grew, broken only by rhythmic chopping. The girl hadn't left the kitchen, he knew. Discomfited, he watched the turnip pile lessen.

This was usual for him.Before, he had helped the woman who housed the Chosu employees, often chopping wood and hauling water. It helped him, in truth, to ease his heart and his soul. He'd expected to do something in this house too.

The quiet stretched and tension grew. His tongue seemed momentarily disconnected from his brain, and his brain seemed on temporary leave too. He wasn't normally this slow, but nothing came easily to mind. He took a quick glance at her, and saw her biting her lip. Her knuckles were white from gripping her katana.

"Oh, thank you Battousai-san." The quiet words broke the silence, snapping the tension in the air. The serving woman came hurrying from the back, carrying a basket of rice and a small container. She had obviously come from the market. As she put the items onto the wooden counters, she noticed Sachiko. 

"Ah...onna hitokiri-san, I see you are up too. Would you be as willing as to fetch me some water? Battousai-san has been extremely helpful, but I must keep him chopping." And so saying, she swept the bucket, miraculously in her hands, to Sachiko.Without even seeming to consider Sachiko's own thoughts, the diminuitive woman gave her a gentle push towards the back door. She followed the stunned assassin outside and proceeded to lead her towards the well.

This wasn't the same garden Sachiko had sat in last night. This was the working quarter, sparsely populated by vegetation, and containing a stone well in the furthest corner of the walled inyard. The woman guided Sachiko towards the well, speaking quietly as she went.

"I never knew that Battousai-san would do such a thing...he was bringing in wood from the woodpile outside. Such a gentleman..." she murmured demurely. Sachiko ground her teeth. This woman, this perfect woman, was getting on her nerves.

"Onna hitokiri-san, please--"

Sachiko snapped, "Don't call me that!" She swung around to face the woman, who seemed, if anything, surprised. No fear, no apology.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, though she looked anything but that. "If you would perhaps give your name..." her voice trailed off gracefully. Sachiko felt young, dirty, rude, and clumsy. Embarrassment washed through her, only feeding to her anger.

"Sachiko. That's my name. And...and I hate wearing kimonos!" She set the pail down with a thud, knowing she was acting like a spoiled child, yet unease and resentment and perhaps a tinge of envy rubbed her every wrong way possible.

Almost immediately, she felt ashamed of herself. The serving woman was regarding her with non-judging, clear, and now slightly apologetic eyes. Compassionate eyes. Understanding eyes. Strong eyes, the eyes of an understand older sibling.

"I'm truly sorry, Sachiko-san. I merely thought the kimono would look beautiful on you."

Sachiko cringed. She knew the truth when she heard it. She felt sorry for yelling at the woman and felt the urge to apologize. She also felt a strange attachment to the older woman--as if they were family, and close. Strange...everything since coming to this house was strange. Everything since meeting Battousai was strange.

She picked up the bucket again and made her way towards the well. As she did, she called over her shoulder to the woman.

"I'm sorry for yelling.What's your name?"

The serving woman's face showed true surprise at the question.

"Miyuki. Takahashi Miyuki."

Sachiko turned and bowed. "Thank you, Miyuki-san."

* * *

_THANK GOODNESS! I've actually had this on the computer for a day or two just never got around to actually editing and finishing it. Sachiko and Battousai start on the way to becoming easy around each other...and I had to introduce a new character, somewhat like Megumi. I wasn't actually planning to write about Miyuki but somehow I felt that the story needed her. It writes itself. I am merely the puppet which it toys with. _

**Things of interest and vocab**

_**1.** **Obi**...the sash/belt that ties a kimono. (Actually, Sachiko's kimono should have an obi that's really hard to tie and maybe even require someone to help her, but I made our hitokiri girl self-sufficient) A formal obi is usually 4 meters long and 60 centimeters wide. It's actually made up of two belts, the koshi-himo and date-jime. _

_**2. Choshu**...did I mention this already? One of the powerful provinces controlled by daimyo that rose up against the Tokugawa Shogunate. Satsuma was the other one. Choshu and Satsuma didn't always get along, and they even ended up fighting each other at one point of time during the bakumatsu._

_**3. Bakumatsu**...the ending period of the Tokugawa Shogunate. I'm not really sure if the **Boshin War** (1868-1869, war between the shogunate and pro-imperialists) is during the Bakumatsu or after it, or whatnot. I'm sorry! _

_**4. Onna hitokiri-san**...mangled Japanese for "woman hitokiri" or female hitokiri, plus -san for added respect. Just in case said female hitokiri looses her temper and decides that her sword's sharpness must be tested. _

_**5. Miyuki**...this means deep snow. I thought this would be appropriate, since she seems so cool and collected. Seemed.

* * *

_

_Thank you (SO MUCH!) for reading! Would you review if you would be so kind? _


	11. Chapter 11 Perfection

**SHADOWS OF RED**_  
by Hime-kou_

_**Author's notes: **I'm actually happy with this chapter! Then again, I do have weird taste. Sorry I haven't updated...it's like I had an updating frenzy in the first few chapters which then went kaput. _

_Soo...In response to the sacred night's question: A **juban** is the undergarment worn under a kimono. It's usually two pieces of fabric. And I guess you're right, that she could wear a shorter kimono, except that it was usually not very polite or proper to do so and Miyuki is a really proper and polite person. As can be seen. Misao...as also can be seen...is not. Sorry Misao. About the asian men cooking thing, I'm asian and my dad cooks, but in those days, it was extremely rare. Square that "extremely." _

_And my thanks to ShadeSpirit your review made me feel all nice and happy. Thank you! And thanks to the sacred night of course. _

_**Disclaimer**: A way to make these interesting...um. Huh. Not mine._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 11-Perfection**

They ate together, even Miyuki, seated around the kotatsu. Rice porridge and thinly sliced turnips, cooked with spices, made the air fragrant. They were each seated on one side of the kotatsu. Nobody said anything, and yet the silence around them wasn't as tense as it had been earlier.

When they were finished, it was Sachiko who took the bowls back to the kitchen. Miyuki followed her, and soon they were talking quietly. He could hear them.

He sat at the table alone.

Today, he had nothing to do. His assignment wouldn't come until the evening, so he had the entire day to do…nothing. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair and stood. _I think I'll go practice, _he thought.

Once more, he climbed the dusty stairs and reached the second floor. This time, bright daylight streamed in from the windows, making the room seem warmer and comforting. He centered himself to the room, to himself, and drew his sword.

Deadly steel whistled through the air, savage amber eyes followed the gleaming arc. Smooth and flowing steps, arms, and legs. To an observer, it would seem like a dance. Grace flowed from him, perfection embodied.

The dance was so beautiful it made her breath catch when she saw it.

She had finished washing the dishes and said goodbye to Miyuki. Battousai had disappeared. She'd decided to go upstairs and find out what was up there. But first, she changed out of her kimono. _If Miyuki is there, I'll wear it,_ she decided. _Otherwise, it isn't me and it never will be. _And of course, she kept her katana.

Then she headed upstairs to be confronted by this sight.

He looked like a god.

Beauty and death, all combined and smoothed into his slender frame…red hair flying, eyes _glowing_.

The room was silent, and she made no noise as she came up. The only sound was his katana whistling and slicing through the air, and the sounds that he made. Deadly and utterly stunning, he made a picture she saw for days. A shaft of sunlight slid over him, and turned him into a figure of molten gold, amber, and crimson, dazzling in its deadly beauty.

This was true swordsmanship.

And it raised something to her, it brought out the power she hid; watching Battousai made her itch to let her sword—and soul—free.

"Hoh!" He yelled and brought his katana down.

Except, it didn't.

A flash of steel, a clang, and sparks skidded along the bright metal blades. He looked up to see her, a strange light in her silver eyes.

"Blocked, Battousai-san," she drawled, the sword speaking to her, telling her to fight, bringing her blood to ring in her ears. The terrible peace and power and unrest of a duel caught her and wouldn't let her go.

They stared at each other for a moment, for an eternity. Then he gave her a grin, a grin that told her what she wanted to hear, a dangerous grin, a humorless grin.

A grin that shut his fears and his normality behind thick doors and let out the dangerous creature he held within.

_All right then._

Katana met katana again. A flash, a brilliant blur, and one jumped towards the body of the other, dancing an intricate dance. Blue gi, grey hakama, black gi, grey hakama, shadow against shadow. They flew in and out of pools of sunlight, momentarily brightening and melting.

They matched each other, sword stroke to sword stroke. She watched as he pushed out the hilt of his sword, and she understood. He watched as she crouched to spin, and he understood. No matter what they did, their powers matched.

He shouted towards her, as they ran at each other, "Why don't you use your most powerful move!" They slid by each other, swords grazing and steel clashing. Both turned and began again.

There was an easy companionship in the air now. It was as if fighting each other brought down the barriers between them.

Sachiko felt totally comfortable in Battousai's presence. Somehow, despite the fiery atmosphere, the exhilaration on each stroke, the passion and power in their katana, there was ease in the air. This was common ground to them both.

She parried his downward stroke ferociously. It forced his katana upward, and he disengaged then darted forward.

"A promise, never to use it unless in utmost need," she yelled out, blocking the sword at her throat.

Battousai listened and understood what she meant, just as he understood her moves, just as he had begun to understand her.

Suddenly, they both heard the creak of stairs.

Miyuki stood there, amazement and some other emotion written in her clear dark eyes. However, it disappeared when she bowed her head to them both.

"Someone is here to see you both," she said quietly and meekly.

Sachiko dropped her blade, and sheathed it. Battousai did the same. They followed Miyuki down the stairs, each feeling the same thing.

Some barrier had been broken there, some gap bridged. Sachiko felt easy in Battousai's presence, as if somehow, she knew him and had known him for a long time. There was a link that had been forged between them by their gleaming steel swords. It was as if they were…companions now.

She stopped when she came to the door. Behind her, Battousai stopped also. Sachiko turned to him. "Tomorrow again, Battousai-san?"

The question hung in the air, and Sachiko waited for the answer. It came, quietly, and totally unexpectedly.

"Please…call me Kenshin."

* * *

**_Of interest (or not)_**

_**1. Kotatsu**...a heated table on which most meals are eaten in the winter. Before these modern days of electricityand whatnot, it was heated with a charcoal brazier, hidden underneath. Now, it's heated by an electric heater. Usually has quilts and suchlike over it, I do believe. _

_**2. Kenshin's "molten goldness"**...hahahahahaha! I had soo much fun with that. Trying to describe him to the utmost. Does it work? Or just make you think of pools of gold? _

_**3. BattousaiKenshin**...I actually don't know if Kenshin went by Kenshin in his Battousai days, I mean, to his close friends and companions. I didn't really plan for this, but like I said, the story writes itself. It seemed right somehow. _

_Okay, thanks! Again, this is one of my favorite chapters. Probably my favorite. Heeee, thanks for reading! Please give some input?_


	12. Chapter 12 In True Light

**SHADOWS OF RED**_  
by Hime-kou_

_**Author's RANT: **Beware longness! I'm so sorry this took me so long to write! And it's disappointing too, after last chapter's utter brilliance if I do says o myself. I rather hoped my brilliance would carry through, BUT...unfortunately, to Sachiko and Kenshin's great detriment, it did not. And yours, readers. Have I made Kenshin and Sachiko get along too well too soon? I feel as if I am. However, as I TRULY do not want this story to drag on for more than thirty chapters as it seems it might, I'm hurrying. I think next time, I'll skip a couple of days. And, my first few chapters were SO bad, I really feel this intense urge to rewrite them. And then I remind myself, finish. So, I'll follow my own good advise. Changing viewpoints very often in this chapter...and that's all I'm going to say. Except, thank you so much for reading! _

_Thanks to the sacred night as always...god, if there were a reviewer's award you would win it. Thank you so much for your input, it helps me so much. Your reviews make my day (and nights, since it's late and I'm still typing this). _

_Thanks to all my reviewers, especially KawaiiSess68, thanks for your comment, it made me feel good! Yay! Goodness! THANK YOU!_

_**Disclaimer:** Yah,blah,gah, not mine...wah!_

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**Chapter 12-In True Light**

_"Please...call me Kenshin."_

He had no clue what came over him. Nothing prepared him for the words that flew out of his mouth, between his lips, as effortlessly as if he said it everyday.

Which he did _not_.

When was the last time he'd used his name? Kenshin…Himura Kenshin. Heart of Sword. The name given him by the tall, sarcastic, conceited teacher of his. Thinking of Hiko brought along a wave of bitter regret that thundered over him.

However, that still didn't explain why he'd said it. And to her, of all people. Maybe it had just been the way she looked in the stairwell, darkness clinging to her slender form, strangely silver eyes gleaming. Gleaming with some emotion he couldn't and didn't dare to name.

He had to admit that he'd never fought one as talented as her. And the way she looked…all grace and beauty combined with skill. Silver, black, and grey, quiet and smooth and sleek and deadly. She gave a new meaning to the word shadow-assassin.

Unsettled by his thoughts, he shook the crimson hair from his eyes and followed her retreating figure out into the bright hallway. The sunlight that came in was less golden now, merely a memory of its former glory. Miyuki led them to the main room, where she left them, again giving them a glance filled with strange emotion.

There was someone waiting for them in there. Kenshin gave a gasp of surprise when he recognized the calm face of the man who's shadow stretched far, sunlight framing his black hair.

_Katsura-san,_ Kenshin thought in surprise. And not without a little awe and bitterness too. here was the man who had brought him into all the chaos and confusion of the shadows. The man who's tutelage brought about the blood that now submerged and stained his hands. Of course, it wasn't his fault. The leader of the Choshu faction had little concern with a young red-headed hitokiri. And the bitter regret came rushing back.

"Ah, we are all here. Please sit. Let me begin," Katsura said calmly. He had the easy grace of a swordsman yet he carried no sword. The light in the room caught on his kind dark eyes, deep and sad.

"You have been informed about why you're here, right? Well, let me get straight to the point then. We need to find out more about the Bakufu's Shadow Assassin. Your…assignments…tonight. Before you dispose of them, please ask or press about the Shadow Assassin."

Sachiko's stomach tensed and she gave a terse nod. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Battousai's—no, _Kenshin's_—face tighten and eyes veil. Katsura's fingers twined as if betraying the slightest emotion, then stopped. When he spoke again, his voice was as calm as ever.

"So, how does it go with the two of you? Please, forgive me when I say you must live together. It is for a reason. I do promise, however, you will be free of each other as soon as we can track down the Shadow Assassin for the Bakufu." Neither answered.

Katsura's mouth turned up a tiny fraction at the sight of the two bowed heads of the silent hitokiri. _A pity_, he thought._ For they are such a good match. _

Sachiko felt an irrational surge of anger at Katsura. _Free of each other..._ was that how Ba--Kenshin thought? However silly of her, she found that living here was perfectly fine with her now. Living with…Kenshin was perfectly fine now. She tightened her fingers into fists.

Once more Katsura's mouth smiled, just a small bit. His sharp eyes picked up the slight movement from the female hitokiri. _Sachiko_, he thought ruefully. _Ah yes. Five years ago, that dark, dark, night. That house, ripped up and stained with blood. No sight fit for such a small girl and it was only luck that called me out to that particular house that night. _

He'd heard of her before, of course, of her family. And he knew of the skills she just might possess. He gazed fondly at the girl before him, yet the sight of her in hakama and gi, complete with katana and wakizashi tore at the resolve he had strengthened over the many years. This was what he himself had made her into, a killing machine. So many sacrifices had to be made…and she among them.

_For a new world, for a better world, _he told himself fiercely. Now there might yet be a chance for her gain her due happiness. With a sigh, he stood.

"I'm off now. Do feel free to call on me if you need anything." Politely, Sachiko and Kenshin stood in the doorway to see him off. Sachiko watched especially, her eyes tracing the receding figure and its bodyguards until they rounded a corner and disappeared.

_That dark night. That horrible, terrible, bloody night. A kind man. "Come with me, hime." Princess. What her father used to call her. "Come on, hime, come this way…" A hand, covering her eyes. _

"_Don't look." _

Memories again. Would she be running from them forever? And the secrets that they hid? The pain of her past hit her, hard and she raised her eyes to the sky out the door. The blue, blue, sky, the deep, rich,sapphire of fall, bright sunlight bathing her features and turning her black hair into blazing blue-silver.

Kenshin watched her from the corner of his eyes. _She's sorrowful. Does she have regrets like I do? Does death press its hand on her heart as on mine? What is the secret of her past? _He felt compassion in his heart, for this girl, this hitokiri, this shadow of himself. Compassion and…

"Let's go in, Sachiko-san." The amber eyes were momentarily softened, glowing gently and filled with golden undertones. She stared at him, framed against the sunlight, bathed in bright light, at the understanding in his gentle eyes.

She'd found a…friend, it seemed. A friend in a time so strange. Never had she had anyone to call a friend, but this hitokiri, this man called Kenshin, accepted and understood her. _Understood_. In a world of blood and darkness, a rare moment of light. Such a short period of time, and yet, they were somehow comfortable.

There was another Sachiko, one locked behind the steely courage, the one who was scared and indecisive, the uncertain, the timid, the emotional. And it was this Sachiko who took the hand that Kenshin offered her, took it, and stepped with him into the pool of golden light.

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**_Of interest, perhaps_**

_**1. Wakizashi**...two short swords carried by samurai. Since Sachiko's not exactly a samurai...let's just say she carries one! Problem solved._

_**2. A pity...for they are such a good match**...says Katsura. Does he harbor some hope for his charge and Kenshin? Will Kenshin like her back? How to solve this...actually, I've already planned this out but it's a secret! _

_**3. Sachiko's family**...next chapter, I promise, stuff will be revealed about Sachiko. And her mysterious, cheesy past. Can you bear the lameness?_

_**4. Katsura Kogoro**...for non-RK literate individiuals. An actual man. He was born with the name Kido Takayoshi, in Choshu province, and represented the Choshu faction in the Satsuma-Choshu alliance. He was one of the Ishin-no-sanketsu, or roughly, "three nobles of the restoration." Leader of the rebellion against the shogunate in Choshu, and in RK, the man who employs Kenshin to become an assassin. _

_Thank you so much for reading this! _


	13. Chapter 13 Cleansing

**SHADOWS OF RED**  
_by Hime-kou_

_**Author's Notes: **It's been such a long time since I updated. I'm terribly sorry! Gah, I kept hitting a cement wall whenever I thought of this story and it just sort of went into a corner and rotted. Plus, school's catching up and all, and my computer's been logging a lot of "productive time." And I'm cold (and you wonder how that adds up) I've noticed that my story's become more serious and less...ascerbic. Rather dark and angsty. Somehow, my talent at sarcasm seems not to fit into this story anymore. I'm sorry the sacred night. I love sarcasm too._

_I've decided that time needs to go on faster. So, it went faster. I love how time is at my disposal in stories. Wish that were true in real life. Then I could just have break over and over and over and over...again... ANYWAYS! I'm sorry again._

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**Chapter 13-Cleansing**

Sachiko and Kenshin had nothing to do.They heard nothing from either Katsura or from the mouths of their own victims, though they made sure to ask. Everything seemed to be at a standstill. As colder weather drew near, their assignments grew less. For once, their lives were at their own beck and call. And now that they had found freedom, they didn't know what to do with it.Their mornings were occupied by breakfast and then a duel upstairs in the abandoned training room. After that, time lay thickly on them, like honey settled onto delicate butterfly wings. They talked often and a lot, now.

Their conversations covered everything but their pasts. Oh, the talk often brushed over it, but they weren't willing to see how deep they could probe before one of them broke. Instead, they talked of Kyoto and the changes in Kyoto.

As time passed, they began to speak of what they did. It was hard at first, talking of their swords that killed and quenched their thirsts on blood. It was too much like touching on a wound that wasn't healed, that couldn't ever be healed. But they did talk and over time it grew easier.

They were upstairs one day, nearly two weeks after Katsura's visit, when Sachiko stood and walked over to the window looking outside. It was winter proper, now, and there was clean snow lying around the house, cloaking the ground in its pureness. Snow was falling now and Sachiko could almost feel the cold winter wind that was gusting the white flakes down. Outside looked bleak and chilled. She turned back to look inside.

Kenshin was sitting against the wall, methodically running a finger down the sleek metal of his blade. As he turned it, the silver caught in the light and sheens ran down its long sides. It was a warm glint on metal and the light that flickered from the braziers Miyuki had installed was also warm. The house was quiet, but it was a peaceful quiet.

The light danced off of Kenshin's flame-colored hair, turning it into a glowing mass of color. Sachiko could feel the warmth of the house inside and she knew that somewhere downstairs was Miyuki, probably working quietly. For the first time in her life, for once, she did not hate the winter and its cold or darkness. There was light enough inside.

"Is something bothering you, Sachiko-san?"

Kenshin's voice startled her, but it did not break the peace. For a moment, she regarded the him. There was an easy companionship around them now. A friendship. And perhaps something more, she admitted. On her part.

Over the flow of time, Sachiko had finally glimpsed the true nature of Kenshin—a nature too gentle and kind to live the life of a hitokiri. So he locked it away, tried to throw it out, barricaded it from ever emerging. It was the only way for him to stay sane. It was that Kenshin that Sachiko…that she…

One day Kenshin had told her the smallest bit of his past. He told her of a time when he had been sold to slavers, and attacked by bandits. He told her of the three girls who had tried to save him, who had fallen under the merciless blades grown men. He told her of the vow he had made then, a vow to protect anyone he could and grow stronger so that no one would ever have to protect him.

As he had spoken, Kenshin's eyes had softened and their fierce amber light had gentled. Perhaps it was then that Sachiko knew somehow or other, Kenshin had made his way into what heart she had left.

Not that it made any difference what she felt.

She knew that she would never act on it. And he acted just as he always did, gentle since the weeks had gone by. However much that time had acted as a friend to them, it always reminded Sachiko that her three weeks with Kenshin were almost up. _Funny,_ she thought. _I can't see him as Battousai anymore. He's Kenshin. I hated the thought of having to live with him, earlier on. Now, I dread our parting. _

"I was just thinking," she said aloud, "about a time on a day just like this one." Her voice was painful, distant, and Kenshin looked up from his actions, his finger stilled.

"The wind was blowing harder than today though, and I remember it as being darker. Darker outside and darker inside too…" Her voice was low as it trailed off. Kenshin sat up in alarm.

"Sachiko-san, you really don't have to tell this—" His voice was concerned, concerned that she was doing this for him. Well, she was. She owed it to him, at least. And some minute part of her, safely squashed by her bigger self, wanted him to know.

"No, Kenshin-san, you have a right to hear this. Or do you not want to?" Said minute part of her was dying, slowly, as she considered that thought. But then her heart began again, for Kenshin said, "If you would like to tell me, I'd be honored to hear."

Sachiko took a deep breath. She didn't know how far she'd be able to go but she wanted to find out.

"I can't remember much. I can't remember who I was or where I lived. I can't remember my parents or if I had any family. All I can remember is holding a bokken when the tsuka was too large for my hands. Dimly I can remember a training room and lots of swords on the wall. It was a big house, with lots of servants and a beautiful courtyard, as I remember. And I remember…one night."

She stopped and took another deep breath. The memories she didn't want to confront. But she had to, didn't she? Sometime or other. And she might as well now, tell them to the man she trusted. Trusted, and…

"I remember flashes. Someone screaming. Long, loud screams. Screams of agony. To my ears, it sounded to painful to be the screams of the flesh. It sounded like the screams of the soul."

Kenshin looked up suddenly and startlement was written clearly across his face.

"Someone was screaming. And someone was screaming for me to run. She—it was a she, I know—called me by my name. She told me to run, run away from them, leave them to die, leave them all…"

Sachiko's hands were clenched into fists against the window. For a moment, she stared into the snow and the greyness outside threatened to swallow her up and take her down into nothingness with it.

"I remember a blade. Long steel, dripping something red. And I remember…kami-sama, I remember holding someone's head in my hands. A girl's. It had long black hair and the eyes were looking at me pathetically, pleading me to run even through death. Kami-sama," she broke off roughly. Tears were somehow welling up in her eyes. She brushed them away angrily.

"Then there was a man, Katsura-san I suppose, who called me hime and took my hand. I remember I couldn't hold onto his hand because mine was too slippery. Too slippery with blood, so he took it and he held it, and he walked me out of that house, to somewhere. Where I woke and where I began to live again. I didn't speak for two months, Katsura-san said. And when I did…"

Sachiko laughed shortly. "Even I can remember what I said. I asked for a sword."

Kenshin stood and made his way over the floor to stand beside her. His feet were silent but she could tell when he came to a stop next to her. "And what did Katsura-san say?" His voice was low and somehow understanding, as if he understood her pain, as if he shared it.

Sachiko turned to face him, her silver eyes catching his amber ones and holding them, drawing them in.

"He gave one to me."

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They were quiet for a time. Kenshin remained standing close to her. She could feel his warmth and his aura, and it comforted her. It sent the darkness away, back into the snowy night. His presence sang of amber tones and gold hues, of warm colors, and it warmed her chilled soul. 

"Arigatou, for listening," Sachiko finally said softly. She felt better. That day had stayed locked inside her for so long, fermenting and rotting, and spreading its seeping poison into the rest of her soul. Now she was free of it and cleansed. Kenshin's calm fire had burned her clean. Her only regret was that she had pushed the sodden and ugly mess onto Kenshin's soul too.

"It was nothing, Sachiko-san. I should thank you for telling me," Kenshin answered just as quietly. She wanted to reach over and touch one of his crimson strands of long hair but held back, knowing she would receive no welcome. Instead, she stole glances at the man beside her and in doing so, she somehow felt as if all her killings were on the opposite side of a thick wall from her now.

The silence descended again. Then from below came a clattering noise, a shuddering bang and then shouting. Miyuki's voice rose above the din and it sounded frightened. She ran then, to protect what had unknowingly become her home.

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_Thank you for reading this! If you like it, you have good taste! No, if you like it, I'm honored. _

**Of interest**

_**1. To love or not to love...** have you noticed that Sachiko still hasn't said the word love? It goes against her ethics. She does love him but to say so would make her feel endangered. She loves him. Sorry die-hard K&K or K&T fans! Of course, it's not like Kenshin loves her back, hey? So I guess you have nothing to complain about. _

_**2. Her history revealed, not...** I have decided to put this into the plot at a later time. And I'm already writing the next chapter so I hope to upload it soon. _

_Thanks for reading again! Please review!_


	14. Chapter 14 True Faces

**SHADOWS OF RED**_  
By Hime-kou_

_**Author's notes: **Oh my. If I do say so myself, but this chapter gets rather...dark. Very dark. Rather frightening. Was scaring myself as I wrote it. Plus it's probably my longest chapter too. Shiver... haha, after so long of not uploading, here I am going back to doing one per day! This is drawing to an end (FINALLY, you sigh). I never really intended for this to be so long. Don't worry, the plot won't slowly dwindle away and become painful to read. At least I hope not. There's still stuff to cover. Thanks to ShadeSpirit for writing that nice review. Makes me want to keep on writing! THANK YOU! I love getting compliments. _

_**Disclaimer:** Eeks, I forgot about this. A lot. Erm. Not mine. Sorry oh amazingly talented Nobuhiro Watsuki who will never read this anyway but I'll say that anyway because IT MUST BE SAID!_

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**Chapter 14-True Faces**

The man was shouting urgently to Miyuki. His face, rawly caressed by the biting wind outside, was distraught and filled with anxiety. There didn't seem to be any harm written in his dark eyes. but in these times…he stopped shouting when a metal blade snaked up to kiss his throat, effectively preventing him from speaking. He gave a wild jump and swallowed, nearly drawing a thin line of blood onto his thick neck. As it was, he still managed to stammer out some words.

"Ka-Katsura-san, sent me…" His voice was hoarse with fear. Sachiko lowered her blade but kept it out. She turned to make sure Miyuki was out of the way—Kenshin had taken her back to the kitchen already.

"All right," she said calmly and dangerously. "What is it that you want to say?" The man breathed an audible sigh of relief as he realized she wasn't going to gut him and send his head flying as an offering to the heavens.

"Like I said, Katsura-san sent me. He told me you and Battousai were here? And there was something you needed to do? Well, there's been another attack by whomever you're seeking. It just happened, over near Ginkaku-ji. Something terrible, he said, and he said you're to go over there," the man said shakily. Sachiko eyed his outfit and decided he wouldn't last a heartbeat in any fight of any sort.

"Sachiko-san?" Sachiko turned to see Kenshin _smiling_ at her. Her heart gave a wild thump, threatening to take up residence somewhere in her throat, and she answered him rather coldly.

"What, Kenshin?"

His smile grew wider and she noticed the dropped honorific. "I MEAN! KENSHIN-SAN!" She practically spat the words out. _Damnit! Something important's come up and ALL I CAN THINK OF IS THAT BAKA'S SMILE! **NOW **WHO'S THE BAKA HERE! _Sachiko mentally shouted at herself.

"Well, I was just thinking we'd better go now," Kenshin said quickly. His smile faded to be replaced by a grimmer one. Sachiko firmly yelled at herself and then nodded. Kenshin looked at the man quizically. "Should we go?" he asked. "Or are you leading us?"

The man's face crumpled and he looked horrified. "Ah…" he managed to choke out. "Ah…I guess…I guess I should be showing you th-there, now." Kenshin grinned again and took pity on the poor man.

"Don't worry. We can find our way there. Thank you," he said courteously. The man's relief was so evident that Sachiko found herself grinning at his plight also. She wondered how he managed to survive in Kyoto.

Kenshin shifted his swords more securely. She checked hers also, making sure they were fastened tightly and wouldn't come loose. _Time to be a hitokiri again,_ she reminded herself. There was something appallingly…comfortable about doing her job again.

Ginkaku-ji was a temple close to Heian Jingu Shrine. Snow gusted in the cold wind as they ran over the rooftops, leaving footprints in the soft snow. Sachiko didn't feel cold. A fire burned deep inside her, warming her, setting all her rational thoughts on fire and consuming them until they became ashes drifting in the winter wind.

Killing did this. Ever since she first began her job, she had realized this of herself. Sometimes, in the middle of a fight, she found herself enjoying the arc of her steel through human flesh and the red welling of blood. This part of her sickened her sometimes, made her hate herself, the creature that she became. Other times, she knew that this was the only way she could cope with what she did. Strange satisfaction came with the death sounds of a man—it was a heady power to know she held their lives on the tip of her gleaming sword.

Thoughts like those made her turn against herself. It confused her. How could she like something her soul deemed bestial? How could she live, day after day, carrying the memories of so many deaths upon her blade? How could she actually like killing? But she did. What if she did? It was terrible and it was killing her too. It was wrong. It was terribly wrong. It was so wrong that it became right.

Sachiko shook off her tangled thoughts. _Just accept it,_ she told herself. _Think of nothing. Nothing exists and nothing will exist until everything is over and done with. Just be._ She built up her walls, stacked her stones, buried her humanity. Gradually, thought drifted away from her and she simply was.

There was nothing there.

Wind picked up snow already piled on the ground, sending it flying and tossing it back up into the bleak grey sky. Silence whistled along the edges of the sharp wind, tossing back gi sleeves, coiling through long hair both black and red. But the ground was pure and clean. No red stained it, marred its perfection. Kenshin watched and felt cold seep into his body.

Just to be certain, to hope that he was wrong, he shouted over the wind to Sachiko, to tell her to search the grounds around Ginkaku-ji. They did, making their way over the roofs of nearby buildings, strainig their eyes against the wind bladed with tiny snow crystals that stung. Everywhere lay white snow and nothing. Never before had he wished to see a single drop of blood, never before had he hoped to see a scene of slaughter. Instead, his eyes were only met with the blank white glare of snow.

Sachiko turned to him. Her black hair whipped in the wind. Her silver eyes were beginning to hold thought and emotion again. The emotion was horror and fury. She screamed over the wind at him.

"NO!"

They raced against time, sending snow churning up in their wake, their feet carelessly flying over the snow-covered rooftops. He didn't care if anyone saw them. He raged at himself, at his stupidity, at his softness and his own soul. He raged that he hadn't seen the signs. He told himself he was worthless, that he deserved to die.

She told herself the same.

No easy feelings were in them now, only hatred, rage, fear, and overwhelming despair. Niether tried to talk over the mocking wind. They were both wrapped in their own thoughts and emotions, their own self-disgust and revulsion.

Kenshin reached their home first. Funny, he thought of it as home now…everything seemed perfectly fine on the outside. He jumped lightly to the ground and heard Sachiko do the same. They raced for the door and flung it open, sending the wind and snow howling triumphiantly inside.

Despair gave way to horror. He looked numbly down at Miyuki's body, sprawled carelessly across the floor, as if her killer hadn't even thought of her as important enough to kill kindly. Her throat was slashed and blood stained the once-bright floor. Her skin was still flushed but she was dead.

The braziers were out and the house became a place of shadows, a graveyard of bright images and happy memories. Sword slashes ripped across the walls in an extravagant display of power. Power over the very things they held dear. Power over their hearts. How they dared, how they dared, to break into a place he held dear, a place he had come to love. Every time he found something to love, something to cherish, it was snatched brutally away from him.

The blood roared in his ears, and he could feel his rage growing dangerously. It threatened to overwhelm him. As it rose to reach a breaking point, he abruptly sank into deadly coldness. Whoever did this…blood would spill to appease his fury.

His senses screamed and strained, pushing past limits to seek out his goal. He was no longer Kenshin. This creature with deadly cold and furious amber eyes was Battousai. He stalked down the hallway, a seasoned hunter searching for prey that would not escape. There was the slighest stir of the tatami floors above him. He knew that the one he searched for was upstairs.

Battousai deliberately walked towards the stairs. Here was the hunter, hindered by no feelings such as fear or hesitation. Yet he found his path blocked. Sachiko glared at him ferociously. He barely recognized her.

"Don't you dare do this without me," she snarled at him, white teeth gleaming in the semi-dark house. Her aura blazed in his sight, tightly leashed yet vast and half-mad with fury. Battousai acquiesed to a creature just as dangerous and deadly as him.

They stepped deliberately, not worrying about noise. Battousai found him first, the man they had let in, who claimed to be from Katsura. He was now garbed in utter black and carried two swords with ease. Sachiko noted this and cursed herself for her judgement. The man knew swords and knew killing. He noticed them.

Sachiko let Battousai attack first. She knew the man would die. She wanted something out of him before he did. She wanted to revenge Miyuki. She wanted to let him suffer. She wanted only herself to do it. So she let Battousai fight.

This was no graceful picture of dancing death now. This was cold fury and horror and rage, built upon each other to create something even she felt a bit fearful of. This was the true Battousai, the Battousai that Kyoto feared so strongly. This Battousai carried no shred of humanity, no scrap of the man Kenshin within him. This was death himself. Warm colors burned no more. Cold flames flickered and crimson gleamed frigidly in the darkness. Steel seemed to run with fire that smoldered on ice, that melted and remade the freezing flames. Savage amber eyes caught the light and reflected it, piercing the darkness and reducing souls to ashes.

They fought in silence. She could feel the other man weakening. She knew no one could hold their own against Battousai. No one. She waited, if not patiently, unwearyingly for Battousai to win. The man crashed to the floor with a sudden cry of pain. This was what she waited for. As Battousai lifted his katana to drive it into the man's heart, she raced forward and blocked it.

"What are you doing." The words were uttered flinchingly, coldly, dangerously. Lethal amber eyes, hard as ice, locked with her own. They were not the eyes of a reasonable man. Sachiko bared her teeth at him. Her fury gave her added strength.

"I will know who sent him. Where he is from. Then I will kill him. Or you can," she hissed at him, low and cold. She refused to back up. Battousai could only be quelled by power equal to his. And she new she could. Her fury rose in her, swamped her, tightened all her muscles and filled her veins with power. "Leave him to me," she snarled one last time. Battousai stepped back.

She immediately turned her back to him. The man lay on the ground, blood seeping through his black top. Battousai had slashed him dangerously close to his heart, then down towards his gut. The man would be in agony now. Sachiko cursed and drew near.

"Who are you?" she whispered in a deadly tone. All her sense trembled for her to kill him, pierce him, slice him into two. He refused to answer, of course. She expected that. She drew her sword and slid it down his sword arm, to his wrist, where she left it. "Who are you?" she whispered again. As he refused to answer, she tilted her katana just the smallest bit, and felt flesh give way underneath. "Who are you?" Again.

Battousai watched her in fascination. This was not the Sachiko he knew. This Sachiko was lethal. Her silver eyes flashed with deadly light, her lips curled into a dangerous smile. Sachiko. The name was no longer appropriate for her either. Now he understood why people earned themselves other names. She shone in his sight, shone with power and fury and anguish. This was a vengeful spirit bent on cold deliberate torture. Death shone from her eyes.

The man gave in eventually. There was only so much pain the human body could endure. However, he would never hold a sword again. He had broken, shattered by her gleaming steel katana and her gleaming silver eyes. Both held his mortality in tight hold. Her voice was chilling in the dark room, above his shattered sobs.

"Your name."

He wept, answering, "Furiken Itai." She allowed him to sit up and cradle his mangled wrist. Blood pooled in the darkness.

"Who sent you?"

"Please! Pl-please, lady, please…"

She had only to grip her katana tighter and he screamed.

"Ba-bakufu…bakufu…lady. The Shadow Assassin."

Her eyes gleamed with a chilling light.

"Where."

He gave her an address and told her he didn't know the Shadow Assassin's name. Then he broke down and sobbed for mercy. At this, Sachiko looked at Battousai. He was given the full benefit of the disturbing silver eyes and it froze even his breath in his throat. No wonder the man had broken so easily. Those eyes were devoid of emotion and yet filled with it, scoured past pain and death. Empty.

Battousai walked forward and drew his katana.

* * *

_I have so noticed that I write a lot of dark and bloody stuff. And I'm really not that type of person usually! Weird. Anyway, trying to keep gory details to a minimum but it still somehow crept in there. I'm sorry if that disturbed anyone. Product of a disturbed mind. Hope you liked it a little, and PLEASE REVIEW! Thank you (getting tired from typing so much...)_

**_Of interest_**

_**1. Baka...**stupid. Idiot. Along those lines. Like, "BAKA DESHI" goes Hiko.Meaning stupid student. _

_**2. THANKS!**_


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